#yes I have put way too many hours into this rom what can I say I want to finish this thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delicrieux · 3 years

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand)

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it.

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge.

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too.

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view.

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”.

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute.

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets.

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance.

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?”

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over.

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae.

looking hot, her message read.

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse social media au #corpse husband fanfic #social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fic #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #myso #make you say oh

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kpopfanfictrash · 3 years

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Raise the Barre (Ch. 7)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: mention of vomit, intense physical training, blood blisters

Word Count: 6,829

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin pulled to a stop at the edge of the curb.

Stepping from the sidewalk, you hastened to the passenger side and opened the door. Your wait had mostly been uneventful, but you hated standing alone in the dark for any longer than necessary. Sliding into the passenger seat, you pulled the door shut and turned sideways to face him.

“Thanks,” you exhaled, seeing him for the first time tonight.

Jimin looked sleepy, as though your call had woken him up – which it probably had, since it was near 1:30 AM. Yesterday when you spoke, Jimin had said he planned on going to bed early. He was dressed in what Noelle would’ve called a groutfit – grey sweats, grey hoodie and silver-framed glasses. You blinked at these, not having realized Jimin wore contacts.

“No problem.” Jimin stifled a yawn. “Seat belt.”

“Huh?”

“Put on your seat belt.” He nodded at the strap by your side.

“Oh – right.” Hastily, you pulled this across your chest. “Thanks.”

Silence fell as you did, the awkwardness increasing with each passing second. Usually, you were better about things like car safety, but everything about this moment felt surreal. Jimin had given you his number barely twenty-four hours prior – you highly doubted this was what he had in mind when he said he’d call.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, unsure what to do.

Jimin’s lips twitched. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

Glancing his way, you found Jimin’s profile dimly lit by the streetlights. He sat spread-legged in the driver’s seat; one hand placed casually on the shift. When he caught you looking, Jimin arched a brow and shifted the car into drive.

Pulling from the curb, he merged into traffic headed away from the club. As the bright lights of Excelsior disappeared into the rearview mirror, the cars on the road became few and far between. You drove in silence, city lights striping Jimin’s profile in black and white.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?” Jimin asked, too casual to be normal.

It took you a moment to answer.

Usually, you would’ve responded yes even if it weren’t the case, since no one truly wanted to hear about your problems. Asking someone how are you? in the city was the same as a nod hello. It wasn’t genuine interest in another person’s well-being.

Tonight though, your usual responses caught in your throat. Tonight, you felt tired, frayed and dangerously thin at the seams.

Everything was not okay, and you weren’t sure how to say otherwise. Your usual walls had been torn, leaving you with this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your fight with Finn had been a big one, even worse than the argument a few weeks ago.

Still, Jimin was a newer friend to you – if you could even call him that. It wasn’t fair to unload all your problems on him. Especially at such a late hour and especially not when he was the one doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” you said at last. “Everything’s fine.”

Jimin paused, as though he knew this to be bullshit.

“Let me rephrase,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Anyone’s ass I should kick?”

You laughed a little, surprised by his threat. “No, no,” you said, shaking your head. “Nothing like that.”

“Good.” Jimin’s smile faded. “So, what happened then? How’d you get stranded?”

He didn’t ask why you called him, but the implication was clear in his voice. Honestly, it was a question you had no good answer to. All you knew was when you were standing on the curb, staring at your phone and wondering who to call, Jimin was one of the first people to pop into your mind.

“I was out with my boyfriend,” you sighed. “I said I’d go to the club with him and his friends, but it got late and we have class tomorrow, so I told Finn I wanted to leave. He… didn’t.” Pausing, you swallowed. “I ended up leaving, but I didn’t realize the trains had stopped running. Uber surcharge was ridiculous, too.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s grip on the wheel tightened.

“Anyways.” You slouched lower in his seat. “You’re the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah. Right.”

Curious, you glanced sideways. Although Jimin was responding in one-word answers, they seemed somehow loaded, as though they contained hidden meaning. Even his profile seemed cautious, full of a tension you couldn’t quite place.

Jimin frowned. “Your boyfriend just… let you leave like that?”

“He didn’t let me,” you said as you straightened. “I can make my own decisions, Park.”

“I know, I just…”

“You just what, Park? Spit it out.”

“I don’t know.” Jimin shrugged. “It just seems kind of cold. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well.” Truth be told, it seemed cold to you, too. “I’m not exactly… thrilled with the situation, either. He turned off his phone,” you muttered, turning to face the window.

In the reflection, you saw Jimin grimace.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“What for?”

“That just sucks, that’s all.”

“Yeah. It does suck.”

Jimin made an indiscernible noise of agreement before lapsing into silence.

It was strange to be in a car with him at this late an hour; oddly intimate for a multitude of reasons you pushed aside.

The last time you’d seen Jimin dressed so casually had been when you walked in on him with Sabrina. It had been nearly a month since then, but you hadn’t heard any gossip of them being together on campus.

Maybe this was something you could’ve asked Jimin, but it wasn’t like you had that type of relationship. Sure, you were ballet partners and sure, you’d been getting along lately, but you didn’t usually interact outside of class. Yet another line you’d crossed by calling Jimin tonight.

Thus far, you’d mostly managed to keep Finn and Russet separate. Noelle had met Finn a couple of times – you’d gone to dinner once and gotten coffee together another time, but otherwise, nothing. Finn wouldn’t have wanted to come to one of your Grace Hall rom-com marathons or take a pilates class on Sunday morning.

Mixing personal life and dance felt strange to you, as though two separate halves of yourself were colliding. It was odd to see Jimin outside of Russet’s walls. He seemed more at ease in his car, like the lines of him had blurred more from dancer to person.

Something about the nighttime made things seem fuzzier. Tired from the day and just beginning to thaw from the cold, you found your lips and mind looser than usual.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jimin said, interrupting the silence. “But I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

With a humorless sort of laugh, you turned to face him. “Yeah, well. I do.”

“Huh.”

Hearing his skepticism, you insisted, “I do!”

“I believe you!” Jimin chuckled. He paused. “Is it new, then? I don’t remember anyone coming to watch your dance competitions in high school.”

Warmth spread through your body, realizing Jimin must’ve kept tabs. He’d watched you at dance competitions. He knew your usual crowd of supporters.

“Finn isn’t new,” you said slowly. “He just didn’t come to a lot of competitions. They got repetitive, you know? Lots of waiting around for three minutes of watching me dance.”

“I guess.” Jimin shrugged. “I used to go to my ex’s tennis tournaments all the time, though. That was the same thing, except no AC.”

“Right,” you laughed. “You’re right, at least our competitions had air conditioning.”

Jimin turned on his blinker to switch lanes. Pulling onto a side street, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Another moment passed, and then –

“We broke up before college.”

Surprised, you glanced in his direction. “Oh. Okay.”

You stared at his profile, wondering if you were supposed to say something more. You could think of many questions to ask, but they didn’t seem appropriate coming from you. You hadn’t realized Jimin was dating someone in high school – although, come to think of it, you did seem to remember a blonde girl cheering for him in the audience at Applause Dance Competition.

“It seemed like time,” Jimin continued quietly. “She went to a school across the country and we just never assumed we’d stay together. That sounds bad,” he said with a half-laugh. “I kind of figured though, if we were meant to be, we’d figure it out. The fact that we didn’t try spoke volumes.”

“That makes sense. Honestly,” you said with a sigh. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if me and Finn had been long distance.”

As soon as the words left your lips, you blinked. The statement hung before you in mid-air, forcing you to consider it for the first time.

This wasn’t something you’d allowed yourself to imagine before; what would’ve happened if you’d gone to a different school. Going to college so close to Finn had just seemed like a sign. You didn’t have the college break-up talk because you’d simply assumed you didn’t need to.

“Yeah.” Jimin sighed. “It’s hard, right? Everything is changing so quickly. You want things to stay the same, but isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Change. Grow. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Everyone keeps telling me change isn’t a bad thing.”

“Sure seems like it, sometimes,” you said softly.

Jimin nodded. After a moment, he reached out for the stereo. A familiar song filled his car and something uncertain unfurled in your stomach. You weren’t sure what you were even talking about anymore – change was a dangerous topic without Finn around.

When the chorus of the song kicked in, you smiled.

“I love this song,” you said, turning to Jimin. “I almost choreographed my solo to it senior year.”

“Really?” Jimin glanced at you in surprise. “Same.”

“No way!” you laughed. “Wow – that would’ve been awkward. Imagine if we’d both had the same solo.”

“It would’ve made us even more competitive.”

“Not possible.”

“You’re probably right.” Jimin smiled. “We were really at each other’s throats for a while, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, we were.”

Settling back in your seat, you couldn’t help but frown.

Something about this statement bothered you, although you couldn’t put a finger on what. Maybe it was what Jimin had said yesterday about your mutual competition pushing each other forward. Maybe it had something to do with that night in Danley Hall, when Jimin stopped by and said he loved watching you dance.

If you really stopped and thought about it, Jimin was the sole constant in your dancing career. Every year, at every dance competition, you’d make sure you were available to watch Jimin’s solo. You told yourself this was because he was your competition but really, you just loved watching him dance.

You could remember the cool air of the theatre as you snuck in, sinking into a plush, velvet chair and hoping you wouldn’t be seen. You’d loved watching Jimin near the front, close enough to see his facial expressions but not close enough to be seen from the stage.

If your solos were close to one another in timing, you tended to watch Jimin from the wings. This had been a different kind of intimacy, hidden behind the first leg while you watched him dance. Lights dim, you recalled Jimin’s silhouette while he would walk to center. The opening notes of his music would sound, and you’d stifle a shiver while you watched him, entranced.

As it turned out, Jimin had been watching your solos as well, but you hadn’t known this for some time. Not until he’d told you the other night.

Suddenly, you turned in your seat. “You know I think you’re talented, right?” you blurted. “There was a reason I was always trying to beat you.”

Jimin’s brows shot up so high, they nearly met his hairline.

“I – uh, no,” he said. “You’ve never said that to me before. In fact, you kind of said the opposite. You told me the only reason I won was because I’m a guy.”

Hearing your words thrown back in your face, heat began to creep up your neck.

“Listen, about that –”

“I’m kidding.” Jimin shot you a smile. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

“I – okay.”

“Look, I know men have an advantage in the dance world.” Returning his gaze to the road, Jimin’s smile disappeared. “I’m not dumb. I know we have higher centers of gravity, and all that. It’s just… you’re also talented, Y/N. People love to watch you dance, myself included. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Staring at him over the console, you felt oddly moved by this speech.

It was strange; many people in your life had called you talented. Your parents, your teachers and Finn, of course. Each of those compliments had meant something to you, but this one felt different. It felt different coming from Jimin – more important, somehow.

Maybe it was because you admired him most of all. The realization didn’t shock you as much as it probably should’ve.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Jimin nodded, continuing to scan the road. His car was clean, you realized as you glanced around. There were no water bottles on the floor, no napkins hastily stuffed into the glove compartment. The only sign of being lived-in was a keychain dangling over the dashboard; a small, plastic photo frame with two people inside.

“My parents,” Jimin explained, noticing where you looked.

“Oh,” you said, bending a bit closer. “They look nice.”

He laughed, unable to help it. “I’ve always thought so. My dad is the one who encouraged me to be a dancer, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Fondly, Jimin smiled. “He’s always loved music. When I was a baby, he loved to hold me and jump around the living room to songs on the radio. My mom has tons of videos of it.”

You smiled at the image. “That sounds adorable.”

“And embarrassing. My dad’s not that great a dancer.”

Without meaning to, you snorted.

Hearing this, Jimin’s smile widened. “When I started memorizing all the dances I saw on TV, my dad convinced my mom to put me in classes. Things kind of spiraled from there.”

“That’s nice,” you said, settling down in his seat. “My parents have always been my biggest supporters, too.”

Jimin nodded, about to respond but then a blast of AC hit you and you shivered. You’d nearly forgotten what you were wearing – or more accurately, what you weren’t wearing. The thin tank top you had on did little to hide the bare skin underneath.

Jimin’s gaze darted sideways. “Are you cold?” he asked, reaching out for the heat. “You can have my hoodie in the backseat, if you want.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay.” Hastily, you untied your cardigan from around your waist. “I have this,” you said, sliding both arms into the sleeves. “Completely forgot about it.”

Silently, Jimin nodded – and then his lips twitched.

“What?” you demanded.

“Nothing!” He shook his head, fighting to keep his face even. “It’s just… you wore a cardigan out to the club?”

Glancing down, you felt your cheeks begin to heat again. “Yes,” you said, somewhat defensive as you looked up. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. It’s just, you know.” He paused. “My grandma has that sweater.”

“Well, your grandma sounds like a cool lady.”

“Without a doubt,” Jimin assured. “Not much of a clubber, though.”

Leaning your head to the window, you smiled. “That makes two of us then.”

You knew the city well enough by now to recognize you were only a few blocks from Grace Hall. Somehow, you found yourself not wanting the car ride to end. Talking to Jimin outside of dance practice was nice – even fun, you realized with some surprise.

It was a shame it’d taken you so long to recognize this.

“Seriously, though.” Jimin laughed. “Clubs can be a good time! There’s dancing, there’s music… rumor has it you like dancing.”

“Not that kind of dancing,” you sighed. “That kind of dancing is just a dry version of a lap dance for people who don’t know what to do with their hips.”

Jimin hid behind a smile. “Ouch, on behalf of your boyfriend.”

“Oh!” Straightening, you glanced at him in alarm. “That’s not – I didn’t mean…”

Stricken, you realized the obviousness of what you had said. Forget about your face heating, your entire body felt like an inferno. You had just told Jimin, in so many words, that Finn didn’t know what to do with his hips.

Jimin waved this admission aside. “Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’ll forget what I heard the instant I get home. Up until tonight, I didn’t know the guy existed, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, settling back in your seat.

Rather than reassure you, this only gave you further pause.

It didn’t seem possible Jimin hadn’t known about Finn. Racking your brains, you tried to think of a time they would’ve crossed paths – only to come up short. Finn hadn’t ever stopped by the studio to pick you up, he hadn’t ever come to mutual hangouts with your Russet friends. Admittedly, Jimin had only recently started attending the same ones as you, but it still seemed unthinkable.

You and Finn had been dating for over two years. Finn’s name should have come up at some point and yet, it hadn’t.

Before you could respond, Jimin pulled to a stop outside your dorm. Glancing over the console, he smiled and again, you were struck by the image.

With his grey sweats, mussed hair and those glasses – you swallowed. It was a side of Jimin you hadn’t seen and something about the visual made your stomach lurch. Before you could launch into full-blown panic, Jimin raised a brow.

“Here you are,” he said with a grandiose wave. “Home sweet home.”

Glancing past him, you took in the steps of Grace Hall.

“Thanks,” you said, pushing open the door. Before exiting the car, you paused and looking over your shoulder. “Seriously, Jimin, thank you. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten home without you.”

In the darkness, you saw his expression soften.

“Anytime,” Jimin said.

You could tell he meant it. There was something to his gaze which made you nod. Jimin wasn’t the type to mince words or say things he didn’t mean. Just like when he said he loved your dancing, you knew Jimin was telling the truth. When he said anytime, he meant it.

Nodding, you resumed exiting the car. Waving goodbye, you stood on the curb until he was out of sight.

Once Jimin disappeared, you sighed and turned towards the building. Grace Hall was silent this late at night – it was nearly 2:00 AM and again, you were thankful Jimin had answered his phone. As you let yourself in and climbed the steps to your room, your thoughts began to race with all the what-ifs.

What-if Jimin hadn’t answered, what-if you’d had to walk home alone, or walk to find a cab. Pressing your eyes shut, you shooed these thoughts away. None of that had actually happened, so it wasn’t worth worrying about.

As soon as you got upstairs, you stepped in the shower – the stickiness of that girl’s drink continued to linger on your skin. After changing into fresh pajamas and brushing your teeth, you wearily climbed into bed. The last thing you did before falling asleep was call Finn again in case he’d returned home.

His phone went straight to voicemail though and, with a sinking stomach, you rolled over in bed and turned off the light.

After sleeping until the last possible moment, you managed to roll yourself out of bed around seven the next morning. This only left fifteen minutes before you needed to leave and even then, you felt like a zombie as you rushed out the door.

Grabbing coffee at the place down the street, you and Noelle entered class with barely ten minutes to spare. Jimin was already present but he was talking to Louis, so you stuck to your side and didn’t interrupt. You wanted to thank him again for his help, but all this flew out the window when a familiar woman followed Mr. Vlad into the classroom.

“Class.” Mr. Vlad set his things down by the window. “You remember Anna Hodelle, I presume – principal dancer at the New York City Ballet. She’s in town for a different master class and has graciously agreed to lead ballet this morning.”

The news was simultaneously exciting and nerve-wracking. Anna had taught a master class several weeks prior which left you sore for days following. Her classes were exciting though, and she was Anna Hodelle, one of the youngest principal dancers for the New York City Ballet in at least forty years – so there was that.

Her introduction didn’t require any response. Scrambling into place at the barre, the class waited while Anna shed her warm-ups and Mr. Vlad left the room. As soon as the music began, you found yourself grateful you hadn’t drunk the night prior.

Similar to her last master class, you found Miss Anna relentless in her pursuit of perfection. Her expectations were high and as a result, everyone gave their best effort – and then some. By the time you broke for water, no less than three students had already run for the bathroom.

It wasn’t pretty, but vomiting was something which happened with dance. Class could be such a grueling workout that occasionally, younger students pushed themselves past their limits. If you ate a big meal before practice, it was increasingly likely you might throw it up after.

You could count on two hands the number of times this had happened to you in high school. There had been some days you practiced so hard, sweat ran down your forehead and blinded your vision. On other days, the floor was so slippery, your bare feet couldn’t grasp the floorboards. Dance, despite being hailed for grace and glamour, tended to be exactly the opposite.

One of your teachers used to say you weren’t using your muscles if they weren’t shaking by the end. Ballerinas were seen as delicate, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Ballet only looked effortless – this was a carefully cultivated image for the audience. At all times, all muscles in a ballerina’s body were engaged, yet even when sweat dripped down her brow, she had to smile.

You’d seen dancers finish their combination, give a sweeping bow, walk gracefully offstage and vomit into the nearest trash can. Everything was for show, everything was for the audience – one of your favorite parts about dance was knowing the brutal behind-the-scenes effort everything took. It made you appreciate the final product all the more.

By the end of class you were exhausted but happy, wiping sweat from your brow while you applauded the teacher. After Anna’s dismissal, you immediately exhaled and trudged towards your bag. Noelle chattered on about a TV show you were watching, reminding you to catch up before Monday.

As you picked up your bag, you felt its front pocket vibrate. Fishing inside for your phone, you pulled this out and felt your eyes widen.

Five missed calls and eight missed texts. Once you opened your phone, you saw they were all from Finn.

Finn: hey [8:18 AM]

Finn: Y/N, I’m so sorry [8:19 AM]

Finn: I don’t know if you’re ignoring me because you’re angry, or if you’re in class right now [8:25 AM]

Finn: you’re probably in class [8:30 AM]

Finn: if you’re not though, please call me back [8:31 AM]

Finn: fuck [9:01 AM]

Finn: I was such an ass last night, Y/N. I’m sorry [9:03 AM]

Finn: … please call me [9:35 AM]

With each text you read, you felt your heart sink. Up until this point, you’d gotten through class by pretending last night hadn’t happened. Now though, you were forced to remember every detail of the night prior.

Finn had left you at the club.

He’d stormed away from your fight, turned off his phone and left you alone. Each time you remembered the night, your fury only grew. This morning when you woke, you’d still been pissed off – even more so, when you turned on your phone and saw zero texts from Finn.

Had your roles been reversed, you never would’ve done the same to him. Sure, it had been a bad fight but who did that? Just took off in the middle of a conversation and shut everything down. The worst part was him turning off his phone. As soon as things didn’t go as planned, Finn simply washed his hands of you.

That was what hurt most of all, the shame burrowing deep into the crevices of your heart.

Beneath everything was a strange twinge of guilt at having called Jimin to pick you up. This was easily brushed aside, though – Finn had left you stranded. If anyone had a right to be mad here, it was you.

“Y/N? You okay?”

Noelle’s voice pulled you from your reverie. Blinking, you lowered your phone and realized you were alone. The rest of the room had cleared out after class – this probably wasn’t the first time Noelle had said your name.

“Shit, sorry!” Hastily, you shoved your phone in your bag. “Yeah… yeah, everything’s fine.”

Noelle gave you a look. “Really?”

After a moment, you sighed. “No,” you said, turning to walk towards the door. “Why pretend? It’s Finn.”

Following you from the classroom, Noelle fell into step alongside you.

“He’s not hurt, is he?” she said carefully.

“Unfortunately, not.”

Noelle snorted. “Okay, so he’s in the doghouse.”

“Yep.”

“Want to talk about it?”

At the top of the stairs, you paused. “Finn and I got in a fight last night,” you admitted. “He wanted to stay at the club, and I wanted to go home – so he told me to leave. I did, but then I realized I had no way to get there.”

Noelle’s mouth dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me? He just… left you there? Wow. The next time I see your ‘boyfriend,’ I’m going to – wait,” she said, pulling up short. “How did you get home, then?”

“I – uh, well… Jimin picked me up.”

Noelle stared at you a moment longer. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” you said, beginning to walk down the stairs. “Finn turned his cell phone off, so I couldn’t get ahold of him and by then, the trains stopped running. Uber was surging and Jimin is the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah, gotcha. That makes sense.” Noelle nodded. “Nice of him to come get you.”

“Yeah, it was nice. Anyways, Finn’s been texting me all morning.”

“Oh!” Noelle groaned. “That was your phone! I kept hearing something vibrating while I was waiting to go across the floor.”

“Yep, that was him,” you said glumly. “Apparently he’s sorry.”

“Of course, he is.”

“He said he was an ass last night.”

“Of course, he did.”

“… I’m still pissed at him.”

“Of course, you are!” Noelle cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Listen, tell him you got home alright – not that he deserves that much, mind you – but you need some time to cool off. He can wait until you’re ready to talk, right?”

Nodding, you saw sense in what she was saying. “You’re right.”

Despite Noelle making sense though, part of you didn’t want to wait.

Part of you wanted to call Finn back right now and give him a piece of your mind, but you knew if you did that, things wouldn’t end well. He deserved to be cussed out, but you were completely exhausted. The idea of fighting with your boyfriend left you feeling drained.

Noelle was right – Finn could wait until you were ready to talk, whenever that was.

Pulling out your phone a second time, you texted Finn you were safe and that you’d talk when you were ready. Once he responded okay, you shoved your phone in your pocket.

Noelle looked sympathetically on. “Why don’t we have a girl’s night?” she said, arm back around your shoulder. “We can invite Irene and Ari and just watch dumb movies and eat brownie batter in fancy lingerie. You know, like every guy’s sleepover porn fantasy.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. “Sounds like a plan,” you said with a grin. “God, what would I do without you?”

“Be super bored, probably.”

You snorted, but the thought stuck in your mind as you left the building. It really would be awful without Noelle by your side. Without meaning to, your thoughts strayed to Sabrina. Aside from Katie and Allison, you had no idea who she hung out with.

It had to be lonely for someone like her. Russet was intense enough without a support system. You quickly pushed these feelings aside – even if Sabrina was lonely, she had no one to blame but herself. You’d offered the olive branch enough times by now to know when to stop.

“I guess only one question remains,” you said slowly.

Noelle glanced your way. “Oh, yeah? What?”

“How dumb are the dumb movies we’re watching? Like, From Justin to Kelly dumb – where it’s a guilty pleasure? Or, more like The Kissing Booth dumb – where things are just bad dumb.”

“Why choose?” Noelle shrugged. “Let’s do both!”

“Deal!”

As you climbed the steps to Grace Hall, you continued to ignore Finn’s texts in your bag. He could wait until tomorrow, at least. After what he put you through, a single night of not knowing what you were thinking seemed appropriate.

When you finally gave in and called Finn the next day, you weren’t sure what you were hoping for. Finn had already texted his apology, so at least he knew he’d been in the wrong. As to what degree he was aware, you didn’t know, but you got a fairly good idea once he picked up the phone.

Short answer: very wrong.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Finn blurted, as though afraid you might cut him off. “I was such an ass to you Friday night. I – I don’t even know what to say. I don’t even know where to start. I fucked up so bad, Y/N and I’m sorry.”

Silence followed this outburst as you frowned, leaning back on the bed.

Noelle had graciously left the room to study at the coffee shop on the corner. Secretly, you knew this was mostly to flirt with the barista, Namjoon, but you couldn’t begrudge her for that. Namjoon did have the most adorable dimples you’d ever seen.

Focusing your thoughts on Finn, you played with a stray thread of your sheets. “I mean… that’s a good start, I guess,” you muttered. “But what are you really sorry for, Finn?”

His sigh was soft. “Everything.”

“Specifics would be good.”

“I was drunk,” he exhaled. “That’s not an excuse, but… I honestly don’t remember everything that I said to you. I remember the gist of it though, and I know it was terrible. I know you didn’t deserve it.”

You remained silent, even though you agreed with him.

“I wanted to stay out,” he continued. “That doesn’t really matter, though. I was a dick. I was stubborn and angry, and I took that out on you. You’re the last person I would ever want to hurt, and I just… I left you. Something could’ve happened to you. God, if something had happened, Y/N…”

Finn trailed off and you heard his voice crack but forced yourself to stay silent. Hearing him break was hard, but you reminded yourself what you’d felt Friday night – all the anger and terror when he completely disappeared.

This memory hardened you enough not to melt at his apology.

“Yeah, well,” you said tightly. “You’re right – something could’ve happened. The trains weren’t running and Uber was crazy expensive. I couldn’t get back in the club. I ended up waiting outside for nearly twenty minutes before someone came to pick me up.”

“Fuck.” Finn sounded strangled. “Fuck… Y/N, I’m sorry…”

In your mind, you envisioned him shoving a hand through his hair. Finn did that when he was stressed or upset and right now, he sounded a little of both.

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Who picked you up?”

Immediately, you stiffened. “Do you seriously think you deserve an answer to that?”

“No, no, I – you’re right, it doesn’t matter. Thank them for me, okay?”

You remained silent and again, Finn sighed.

“Are you… are we going to be okay?”

It was a loaded question. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the wall. In all honesty, you didn’t know the answer to that.

On the one hand, you loved Finn. That hadn’t changed. On the other hand, it was becoming more and more apparent your problems weren’t going away. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise – but all couples had problems, didn’t they?

In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but think a break-up should be more obvious than this. A break-up should be something big, something irreversible. You were beginning to wonder though, at what point were problems considered insurmountable. Everything about this seemed grey and right now, you really needed black and white answers.

Both your lives were changing, as Jimin had said. Freshman year was a cacophony of change; in order to succeed, you and Finn needed to learn to grow with each other. Hiccups were to be expected, bumps in the road were to be expected, but if you wanted to stay together, you needed to learn how to fight for this relationship.

“I think so,” you said, opening your eyes. “I think we’ll be okay. I just… Finn, you really hurt me that night.”

“I know.”

“It can’t happen again.”

“It won’t.”

“You know… I want to spend time with you, right?”

“I… do.”

He paused for longer than you would’ve liked, but you brushed past it. “I know you like going to clubs and all that,” you said. “But that’s not really me. Maybe next time we can do something different. Something a little more low-key.”

“Yeah.” Finn chuckled. “That sounds nice, honestly.”

“Good.”

“At least my friends really liked you.”

Taken aback, you snorted. “Oh, come on, Finn. I was barely there.”

“I’m being serious! Ben told me he thinks you’re funny.”

“Ben,” you groaned. “Has all the humor of a wet sock.”

Finn laughed and this time, it sounded like him. His laugh had been watery before, a restrained version but now, his true mirth broke free. As soon as the sound hit your ears, you began to relax. Truthfully, you hadn’t been sure things would be okay until then. Hearing him laugh, you knew Finn meant it. He wanted this, too.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Ben sucks, but at least he has the taste to know that you don’t. Next time, we’ll do something more fun.”

“Next time,” you agreed.

“Next time.”

Despite your conversation having gone as well as it possibly could’ve, uncertainty continued to linger in the back of your mind.

You spent Sunday evening watching TV, but still slept restlessly before your class the next morning. Mr. Vlad’s ballet was definitely not one you wanted to arrive at ill-rested, but Monday you showed up with bags under your eyes.

You tried to push all negative thoughts from mind while warming up at the barre. By the time class broke for water, you were feeling marginally better. Ballet was soothing that way. The repetitiveness of barre helped to put things in perspective. Your ankle had almost completely healed by this point and now, two weeks after the fall, your technique had finally begun to improve.

No longer were you the last one to catch onto combinations and Mr. Vlad only yelled once about your turnout at barre. This was a marked improvement from the start of the year and although you still were far from the top, you felt relatively good about your standing. You had a feeling once you and Jimin began to practice, the moves would come even easier.

The first combination at center was a slow adagio. It wasn’t particularly difficult aside from a lift in the middle, but despite the familiarity of the moves, Jimin was being oddly hesitant.

Mr. Vlad showed the combination with his dance assistant, Mina. After they demonstrated a particularly difficult lift, they gave everyone time to practice – which, in your and Jimin’s case, turned out to be necessary.

“Ladies, pique to arabesque!” Mr. Vlad called from the front. “Lift your leg higher and – the man lifts! He walks you in a promenade. Then you’re lowered, exhale – and bourrée!”

Brian immediately raised his hand for help, so Mr. Vlad left to assist in his corner. The lift was proving itself to be tricky – it required most of your weight balanced against Jimin’s side while he gripped your thigh, lifting you up.

You and Jimin began to practice, but no matter what you did, nothing seemed to be working. After the fourth failed attempt where Jimin nearly dropped you on your ass, you shakily landed and whirled around.

“Alright,” you said, both hands on your hips. “What’s going on?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how’re you supposed to lift me if you’re barely touching me? Look at Sabrina and Paulo!” you said, gesturing in their direction. “He’s got his whole fucking hand under her leg!”

Jimin’s cheeks turned red. “I – uh, right. Yeah. Let’s try it again.”

Staring at him another moment, you nodded and returned to your spot. Jimin settled into fifth position, jaw clenched and looking as though he were in pain. You stared at him in the mirror, considering calling him out before thinking better of it.

Taking a deep breath, you piqued into arabesque. Leaning your weight to Jimin, he reached again for your thigh – only to falter, leaving you hanging.

“Jimin!” you half-laughed as you slipped down his leg.

“I’m sorry!” Jimin blurted, stepping away. Looking thoroughly distraught, he shoved both hands through his hair. “It’s just… well, I…”

“It’s just what?”

“You have a boyfriend,” he said, a bit pained.

In response to this, both your eyebrows shot up. That had not been the answer you’d expected.

“I… okay?” you said, failing to grasp the point. “So what?”

“So.” Jimin glanced furtively around. “I don’t know, it’s just weird! I don’t want to… overstep my boundaries, or anything.”

“But…�� You stared. “I had a boyfriend last week and it wasn’t a problem.”

“Okay, but last week I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Again, you looked at him as though he was crazy.

“This is stupid,” you said, stepping closer. “Ballet is our job, Jimin. It’s the least sexy occupation on the planet. Right now, I’m bleeding from three different blisters inside my pointe shoes. I’m sure my deodorant has long worn off by now. Would you just fucking get over yourself and grab my thigh?”

Jimin’s upper lip twitched. “Well. When you put it like that.”

“I am putting it like that,” you said with a grin. “Now, let’s go again.”

Nodding, Jimin followed when you walked backwards. Taking another deep breath, you piqued to arabesque and this time, Jimin didn’t flinch when your weight transitioned to his. Hand sliding beneath your thigh, he lifted you easily into a promenade.

As soon as you turned your head, you caught Jimin’s gaze and felt – something.

Something other than the white noise of the room. Something other than the thud-thud of your heart, other than the music on the stereo and Mr. Vlad yelling counts from the corner.

Despite what you had just finished saying, something unknown seemed to bloom in your chest. In the middle of the lift – blood blisters and all – you felt an errant spark where Jimin’s front pressed to yours.

You barely had time to recognize this before the moment was gone. Slowing his walk, Jimin set you back down – and you wobbled.

This time it had nothing to do with his technique.

“Ah, shit.” Jimin frowned. “That’s my bad – I can do better! Let’s try it again.”

Nodding, you felt a bit wooden as you followed in his footsteps. When Mr. Vlad started the music, you fought the surging tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm. It had been nothing, you told yourself. Nothing of importance, anyways.

Shoving whatever you’d felt in a box, you pushed this to a corner of your mind and firmly shut the door. Forcing a smile to your lips, you lifted your chin as you began the combination.

It was lucky everyone else found you a talented performer, since beneath all your smiling, all you could think about was what was hidden in the box.

Something unknown, something tentative – and something which could be dangerous, if it ever came to light.

Author’s Note: I was so close to re-writing this chapter with Mr. Vlad picking her up LOL just kidding, but thank you for reading! 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre are posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #bts writing #jimin au #jimin series #bts au #bts series #jimin dance au #bts dance au #jimin e2l #bts e2l

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cocochannel00 · 3 years

Text

Things that Husband!Harry would definitely do (a thread)

(If you don’t think that Tiny Desk Harry doesn’t give off mad husband!harry vibes - he looks so fluffy- then we can’t be friends)

- He’d sneak into your room the night before the wedding because he missed you even though he knows its bad luck and when you’re mad at him for it he would just smile and place a kiss on your forehead and say “I don’t need any luck, I just need you”

- At your wedding reception he would walk around the room introducing you to everyone as “my wife” as if they didn’t already know who you were

- During your wedding dinner he’d spend the whole night whispering dirty jokes in your ear trying to make you laugh because he knew that even though it was your wedding day you were still spooked by all of the attention

- On your first year anniversary Harry wanted to surprise you by making you breakfast in bed so he started making pancakes as you slept. You woke up to the sound of your fire alarm going off and Harry blowing the smoke off a pan with a pillow. He’d give you a sheepish smile before mumbling a “maybe we get takeout this year?”

- During the holidays he’d hang mistletoe all around your house and force you to kiss him at every one. “Look love it’s mistletoe, you know what that means” he’d state with a grin. “Harry I just kissed you literally 2 minutes ago in the other room” you’d grumble “Doesn’t matter love, it’s mistletoe and those are the rules. Now come here and kiss your husband”

- Anytime the two of you would get into any sort of major fight where you would say “I hate you” he would shoot back “Well I love you so I guess you’re stuck with me” before going to sulk on the couch

- Whenever you went to his shows or stayed with him on tour he would force you to sit back stage and watch him from the wings so he could watch your reaction to his corny jokes and steal a kiss from you in between sets and on his bathroom breaks

- You agreed to be the designated drive for your group for a night out so Harry gets drunk and becomes extra clingy. He spends the entire night stuck to your side, shoving his face in your neck whispering “I’m going to marry you one day” to which you’d remind him quietly that you were already married. He’d then nod thoughtfully and mumbled “Well then I’m going to marry you again just in case”

- One night you would be tossing and turning in bed unable to sleep and you would accidentally wake up Harry. You’d apologies because you knew he had to wake up early the next day, but he would just shush you with a quick peck before repositioning you so that you could lay your head on his chest. He’d then softly start humming the tune to one of the new songs he was working on until you’d fall asleep

- Harry would convince you that he was capable of building the Ikea coat rack the two of you had bought for your new home on his own so you’d go into the room next door to take a nap. When you woke up and hour later you found him laying on the floor facetiming Mitch as he tried to figure out why the last piece wasn’t fitting properly only for you to look at it and realize he had built half of it backwards

- Harry would come home late from one his movie shoots and would mumble a quick hello as he walked in through the door. You’d be sitting on the couch watching and episode of Dateline and he would throw himself next to you and lay his head on your lap. You’d start running your hands through his hair as you finished watching the last couple of minutes of the episode before asking Harry how his day was only to realize he had passed out on your lap and was now quietly snoring, a small trail of drool slowly coming out of his mouth

- The next season of your favorite show Handmaid’s Tale had come out so you and Harry started watching it. Every five minutes Harry would ask you a question about the show until mid way through you looked at him and bursted out “Harry if you ask me one more question about the show I’m sending you to our room”. Harry would pout at you and sink into the couch, grumbling about how it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t remember what happened last season before he shoved some popcorn into his mouth

- You’d need to go shopping at Target one day to get some decorations for your niece's birthday party and Harry would decide to come along. “This is our list Harry, we’re not buying anything that’s not on the list” you’d say in the car before getting out, but it would be hopeless because every other aisle Harry would pick something up and say “babe we need to get this” and you would stare at him and say “is it on the list?” and he would grumble a no before sulking back down the aisle to put it back

- On road trips when he let you pick the music he would grumble when you would change the song every 30 seconds. “Love just choose a song, it’s not that difficult, gave you the bloody playlist” he’d state as you would continue to skip through the songs mumbling “I’m tired of that song though, just wanted to hear the chorus”. “Is that what you do with my songs too, just skip all the good parts to get to the bloody chorus?” he’d ask mockingly as you gave him a sheepish smile and mumbled a “sometimes” before finally picking a song

- It would be nearly 4 am and you would still be awake reading your book in bed as Harry slept soundly next to you. You could feel the tears running down your face as the main character just had their heartbroken and a soft sniffle left your nose which caused Harry to startle awake. “Babe what time is it?” he’d mumble as you continue reading, paying him no mind. He’d turn on his phone and groan as he saw the 4 flash at him before turning to see the tears on your face. “Oh no love did she get her heartbroken again? Sure they’ll get back together by the end” he’d state, knowing this was your third rom-com book of the month. You’d mumble a yes as Harry gently dog eared the page before you could protest. He turned off your lamp before tucking you into his side, pulling the covers up to your chin, letting you crying into his chest over your fictional characters

- You and Harry going to your 15th high school reunion together and he gets jealous when he sees you talking to your ex-boyfriend from when you were 16. He’d come up behind you and wrap an arm around your waist while placing a kiss to the side of your temple before reaching out his free hand to introduce himself. “Hello I’m Harry. The Husband” he’d say as he shook your ex’s hand just a little tighter then necessary

- Harry would be overly invested in your work place gossip so when the two of you would have dinner together he would constantly ask questions about what happened with your coworkers that day. “So did Stacy and Justin get caught yet or does Janet still have no idea? Did Kathleen ever get that promotion? If I ever see Garrett I’m going to punch him”

- He’d force you to wake up early with him so the two of you could workout together in your home gym, but you’d just sit on the floor against the mirror in your workout clothes staring at him. After several attempts at trying to get you to stretch with him he’d give up and say “If you’re not gonna workout at least give me some motivation babe” so he’d do his abs workout in front of you and every time he came up from a sit-up you’d give him a kiss

- Harry would come down with a cold and he would turn into a 5 year old boy and try to milk it for everything it’s worth. “Think the doctor mentioned that cuddles would really help with my headache, love.” “Harry I don’t think that’s what the doctor said” you’d reply as you placed a cold wash cloth on his forehead. “Don’t think I would have forgotten such an important order from her. Now, come here I want to cuddle my wife”

- He’d come home from the studio fidgeting with his beat-up blue iPod in his hand as you were finishing up a quick dinner for the two of you. He would gently place the iPod on the counter next to you as he poured himself a drink to calm his nerves. You’d stare at it for a minute before asking “Is it finished? Can I listen?”. He’d nod before you gave him a quick kiss and took the device to the living room, leaving him there with his thoughts. An hour later you came back into the kitchen, tears streaming down your face as you ran up to hug him. “Liked it?” he’d ask nervously, this being the first time you’d heard the finished album. “Absolutely loved it” you’d whisper back causing Harry to release a deep breath before taking your face in his hands and kissing you roughly

- He’d start every award acceptance speech with “I’d like to first thank my wife for always supporting me” and then try to catch your eye in the crowd, giving you a soft smile that was only meant for you before going on to thank everyone else

- “We need an intervention Harry. Why are your suits in my side of the closet?” you asked as you came down stairs with one of Harry’s Gucci suits. “I was running out of space and I didn’t think you would notice” he replied with a blush. “Well I did so either you move them or I’m throwing them out” “Love but they’re Gucci you can’t just-” “Ah ah ah I don’t care. My side of the closet” you’d state before dropping the suit in his lap and walking back upstairs

So many others come to mind but these are just a couple that came to mind. I’ll probably do a Dad!Harry version at some point as well

#harry styles imagines #harry styles x reader #husband!harry #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles masterlist #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic

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hime-memes · 2 years

Text

• A Girl’s Guide To Murder • ( Part 1. )

These starters have been taken from Holly Jackson’s, “ A Girl’s Guide To Murder “ Book. These are from chapters 1 - 11.

Recommendations: These starters would best serve angsty or crime fighting muses/plots/timelines.

As always: feel free to change anything within these starters that you see fit to make it work for your muse & the receiver’s muse !

** Any slight wording changes / sentence break ups made to the original text is to accommodate for RP purposes or more clarity. **

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, murder / death, toxic friendships, alcohol mention

“ I ... You don’t know me ... I’m ( Name ). I was a few years below you at school before you left. “ “ I was wondering if I could borrow a second of your time ? Well, not only a second, we’re already way past that ... Maybe like, a few sequential seconds, if you can spare them. “ “ I don’t think your brother/sister/sibling did it -- and I’m going to try to prove it. “ “ ( Name ) ! Why is the dog wearing my shirt ?! “ “ Oh my god, I was trying to do homework ! “ “ That’s because you’re a judgmental prepubescent boy who still thinks little people live inside traffic lights. “ “ Oh my god, ( Name ), stop being so gorge. “ “ I wish I didn’t have to be in pics with you. Give me your face. “ “ Yep. We’re prepared for the tears. “ “ Oh, the calvary’s here. “ “ First, you’re banned from looking at this for the next 24 hours. “ “ He did it over text ! “ “ Boys are dicks, you could do so much better than him. “ “ Massive red flag. “ “ Thanks for coming, guys, I didn’t know if you would. I’ve probably neglected you for half a year to hang out with ( Other Name ). “ “ ... And now I’ll be third wheeling two best friends. “ “ That’s crap we’re all best friends. “ “ Yeah, us and those mediocre guys we allow to bask in our delightful company. “ “ Do you like bunnies too ? “ “ Okay, rom-coms or films where boys get violently murdered ? “ “ I don’t see the logic in putting a nose hole in your nose hole. “ “ ‘ It’s sausage to me ‘ is a German saying; just means ‘ I don’t care ‘. “ “ Oh my god, how many times ? He only did one nude photoshoot in the eighties, that’s it ! “ “ Questionable segue, but yes - and I’m going back to interview him tomorrow. “ “ What do you think I’m going to do ? Pin her down and beat responses out of her ? “ “ But ... honestly ...I thought you were just messing with me. “ “ Like bribery muffins ? “ “ I’ve never trusted anyone who takes their coffee black. “ “ We try not to talk about ( Name ) too much: it upsets Mom. It upsets everyone actually. “ “ It’s that ... well ... we’re not allowed to grieve for him, because of what happened. “ “ Crying already ? We haven’t even gotten to the sad parts. “ “ Should I be nervous ? “ “ Uh, we were just, like, drinking, talking, playing some xbox ... nothing too exciting. “ “ No, they make me look old. “ “ That’s okay, you are old. “ “ I’ll never cross to the dark side. “ “ I remember you were about 5 at the time and always wore a pikachu onesie with a tutu. “ “ Yeah, well, Van Gogh’s work was unappreciated in his own time as well. “ “ Excuse me, ( Name ), I asked if you had a problem. “ “ I’ll deliver my complaint in person. “ “ Look, I don’t need some kid I hardly know fighting my battles for me. “ “ I’m not your problem, ( Name ); Don’t try to make me your problem. “ “ Sorry, he/she is a bit friendly. “ “ That’s no way to talk about your ( Familial Relation ) ! “ “ Sometimes, my mouth starts saying words without checking with my brain first. “ “ I used to want to be a lawyer. “ “ You can’t help that these happen to be the woods outside your house. “ “ My brain hasn’t been able to leave it alone. “ “ Go on - I want to hear your theories. “ “ You think it’s possible that ( Name ) was actually murdered ? “ “ That’s ( Name )’s ? How do you have it ? “ “ Let’s go look at it in my workstation ... uh, bedroom. “ “ Sorry, you’re just very entertaining when you’re this intense. “ “ Stop finding my life amusing ! “ “ Yeah, take a look. Don’t worry, they aren’t sexty or anything. “ “ Then, maybe someone else wrote that text ? “ “ I think they’re terrified of false hope. I am too, if I’m being honest. “ “ That line of inquiry is lost. “ “ What did you tell them about ( Name ) ? “ “ When I asked ( Name ), they just said ( Other Name ) was being a ‘ little bitch ‘ about something. “ “ I don’t like the person I was. The person I was with ( Name ). “ “ I was addicted to her. I wanted to be her. “ “ It was bound to end in tragedy, I think. “ “ Yeah, you’re right - I guess I just still feel protective of ( Other Name )’s secrets, you know ? “ “ Well, let’s hope the camping police don’t check instagram, because I’ve announced it to the world. “ “ Dismantling the patriarchy one tent at a time. “ “ I love camping ! Time for vodka and peach rings until I puke ! “ “ Well, how are you ever going to get a girlfriend ? “ “ With my hot bod and twinkling personality, obvi. “ “ She tells the handsome guy with the flashlight to shut up. “ “ A murdered girl isn’t fair game for your crappy jokes. “ “ I was just about to get to the part about ( Name )’s secret older lover - slash - killer. “ “ That’s way over the scary boundary ! “ “ Stories are fine, but no communicating with spirits. “ “ That was needlessly dangerous ! What were you trying to prove ?! “ “ We’re crying because we got lost and the flashlight broke and we’re DRUNK ! “ “ Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What does the note say ? “

#book-based starters #book sentence starters #roleplay meme #rp meme #rp sentence starters #roleplay sentence starters

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egcdeath · 3 years

Text

birthdays with the boys

in honor of my own birthday, today i’ll be sharing with you what i think your birthday with many cevans characters would be like. enjoy! <3

steve rogers

he leaves his mission early and unannounced so when you wake up to the smell of pancakes in your house, and a man with breakfast in bed you almost jump out of your skin buuut you couldn’t be happier to see him

breakfast in bed is just the start of your bday because he goes ALL. OUT.

as you finish up eating, he grabs a folded piece of paper with a wax seal on it and hands it to you

he tells you to open it once he leaves, gives you a wink, then goes

he planed a birthday scavenger hunt for you!!!

for the rest of the day, you travel around the city to a bunch of important places in your relationship, like your fav dates n stuff

at the midway point of the hunt, he meets you for a coffee and makes sure you’re still enjoying everything before he sends you off with the avenger’s company card and basically tells you to get something nice before finishing the hunt hehe

you do in fact get yourself something nice

at the end of the hunt, you end up at the compound where all of your friends and teammates are and you have a very nice birthday party

by the time that you and steve go home, you’re exhausted but wanna spend a lil more time savoring your birthday so steve suggests that the two of you watch that one cheesy rom com that you love (and he hates)

as you cuddle on the couch, popping the occasionaly popcorn kernel in your mouth, you cant help but to feel grateful that you have such an amazing boyfriend

ransom drysdale

his birthdays were always disregarded when he grew up, so he has a very extravagant celebration planned for you

we all know that he can make a pretty airtight and elaborate plan so you literally have zero idea of what he’s got up his sleeve

enter: a whole birthday week

(he sweet talked your boss into some time off so thats one whole thing you don’t have to worry about)

day one is a whole spa and a shopping day

he can’t stand some of your friends but he invites them anyway bc he knows it’ll make you happy

he’s glaring at your friends while they giggle about some new louis vuitton purse and you’re thoroughly amused by it

you give him extra kisses that night as a reward for not instigating any fights that day (awww bf of the year am i right ladies?)

day two you guys do a museum hop and look at lots of art

ransom rolls his eyes at canvases that have a few drops of paint on them and are called modern art, you think this is hilarious

day three you have a picnic together in a park

ransom knows you have an affinity for charcuterie boards and attempts to make you one himself (and it’s not all that bad), along with a bunch of dainty little sandwiches

later that day, you go to a planetarium together

on your drive back home you have an interesting convo on the meaning of life

day 4 you take a pottery class together

ransom makes the most deformed bowl you’ve ever seen in your life

so naturally you put it up for display in your bedroom (so whenever you see it you can think of him)

day five is a first class flight to some luxurious villa in europe. most of day five is taken up on a plane

ransom lets you lay your head on him while you sleep, even though the position you’re in is making it astonishingly uncomfortable for him

day six you guys explore the city all day together

ransom makes sure not to complain about his aching legs (even though yours are getting sore too, and if he said something you would’ve done something about it!)

on your real birthday (day seven), ransom takes you out to a very nice dinner, and gives you a hand written letter detailing how much he loves and cares about you (because sometimes it’s hard for him to say his feelings)

you’re extremely flattered but have no idea how you’ll top this for his own birthday

andy barber

you and andy aren’t really huge on big gestures, so he does little things throughout the day

while you’re at work, he makes a surprise stop by and brings you your favorite drink & lunch from your favorite food place

he sends a bouquet of flowers to your job as well

after work, he cooks for you then showers you in gifts

your favorite thing that he gets you is a little engraved necklace with yours and his initials on it

at the end of the day, he gives you a nice full body massage and somehow that was exactly what you needed.

maybe not the most extravagant birthday, but a good one nonetheless.

frank adler

you have a pretty chill birthday with him and mary

he brings you a cake that him and mary made/decorated together

it’s kind of hideous but you love it

you guys let mary skip class for just 1 (one) day but tell her to keep it a secret

you call the school and let her fake being sick in the background. it is a hoot

you all go to the zoo together

you take tons of pictures

your personal favorite is one where mary and frank are posing with a giraffe

after the zoo, you go bowling

when you win, the sore losers that came with you claim they were letting you win since it was your birthday

you end your day at the beach, watching mary and her cat play in the sand in your peripheral vision while you and frank admire the sunset

ah, sweet, sweet domesticity

ari levinson

you go to an escape room to celebrate your birthday

it’s just you and ari, but you’re smart so you don’t expect it to be too difficult

🚨wrong🚨

you’re both so hard headed and stubborn that doing any of the tasks is like pulling teeth

eventually the building had to close, and you’ve only finished like... a few tasks in the hours you’ve been there

this was certainly not a bad birthday though, arguing with ari is one of your favorite pastimes

and this birthday certainly did not disappoint

jake jensen

you and the rest of your team decided to go to a little retro arcade for the first half of the night

you spent way more time than necessary watching jake attempt to beat the high score of some random game

after giving up on beating the highest score on a pac-man machine, jake decided to attempt to win you a prize on the claw machine

like, $20 and a few annoyed humans in line behind him later, it was still nothing

when jake finally gave up, the next person in line won the soft and plushy elephant you had your eye on

and while your back was turned, he may or may not have paid off its rightful owner in order to get it with you

it was too sweet of a gesture for you to even try to be annoyed with jake

a bit later, you decided to partake in a game of laser tag which was going on in the same building

this was fine and dandy buuuut

everyone on your team treated every mission (real or fictional) like the end of the world

this made for a few very interesting matches

jake nearly trampled a child more than one time

good thing everyone was required to sign a waiver before playing

a custody battle over which team got to have cougar seemed to be a consistent theme during the night

when you were on different teams, you couldn’t help but notice that jake was getting a little too much pleasure out of shooting you

it was fine because you were equally enthusiastic about shooting him

you were eventually booted from the game when an employee claimed you were all being too rough

at some point you lost the elephant

but luckily for you, you found it before you went home

you were going to keep that elephant forever

johnny storm

you were genuinely convinced that johnny forgot your birthday

he did not bring it up ONCE the whole day

you’re actually kind of hurt for a while and get all in your head

johnny gets the silent treatment 🙄 (but he deserves it)

you decide to stop moping and go out, since it issss your birthday

you do your makeup and put on a skimpy little dress

as you leave your room and start enter the communal portion of the baxter building, johnny stops you and checks you out

he’s like “where are you going????”

and you’re like “out 😐”

and he’s like “are you sure? 🤨”

and you’re like yes duh

then he gestures to the side really quickly and you’re kinda confused then a whole bunch of people pop out and start cheering for your birthday

you’re kinda embarrassed that you spent so much of the day moping but you quickly get over it because you love a good party

by the time that most of your guests are gone, you force johnny to take you out to the club

and of course you warn him not to ever pull a stunt like that again

lucas lee

he forgot it was your birthday

#steve rogers x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #andy barber x reader #frank adler x reader #jake jensen x reader #johnny storm x reader #lucas lee x reader #ari levinson x reader #headcanon #chris evans x reader

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ptergwen · 4 years

Text

let’s just pretend

w/c: 3.5k

warnings: rom com references, drinking, and a little bit of angst

summary: you cope with your feelings for peter by getting drunk on halloween

a/n: ok i really really love this and i loved writing it too? it’s the first like original idea i’ve had in a while so maybe that’s why but yeah i hope y’all enjoy and that this puts you in a halloweenish mood :-)

there’s something about fall that makes you nostalgic. the same images pop into your head whenever you hear the word october. pumpkin patches, colorful leaves, and hot coffee. it reminds you of being a kid. only when you were a kid, all you could think about this time of year was what you were going to be for halloween.

you’d spend weeks getting your costume together and coordinating with all your friends. trick or treating was literally the only thing that mattered. if you wanted to get good candy, you had to have a good costume.

the high school version of candy is alcohol. everyone just goes to parties so they can drink the whole night. no one even dresses up usually. you personally would rather have chocolate than cheap beer. your whole friend group agrees on that.

that’s why you decided to throw your own party this year. anyone who misses the old halloween can come hang out. so far it’s only peter, mj, ned, betty, and the rest of the decathlon team coming. betty invited everyone for you. she also asked liz, but she’s going to flash’s party. he only gets so many people because his parents are never home and don’t care if he raids the liquor cabinet. whatever.

you’re out finding something to wear with peter and mj a few hours before it starts. ned and betty already picked their costumes. she’s going as an angel, and he’s going as the devil. you think they should switch. they’re out shopping for snacks while the three of you hit up spirit halloween.

mj groans every single second there’s silence, and peter keeps getting scared by the motion sensor decorations. he eventually ends up having to go somewhere in the store that doesn’t have any. so, it’s a lot.

“why don’t you be a vampire?” mj asks in her fake interested voice, taking a pair of fangs off the rack in front of her. you scoff. “i think i did that in sixth grade.” she puts them back with a huff. “witch?” she’s just suggesting every costume she sees so you can get out of here. her lack of enthusiasm makes you want to take longer.

“no.”

“zookeeper?”

“eh.”

“what about cat in the hat?”

“mj, what? no.”

“uh... school girl?”

“ok, that’s just offensive.”

“you’re right. why do they have that?” she eyes the costume suspiciously. you cover it up with a random cloak that fell onto the floor. you’re never going to find anything at this point. maybe it’s a sign you’re too old for this. just when you’re about to lose all hope, peter comes over.

he’s holding up the plaid yellow skirt and blazer cher wears in clueless. it’s one of the most iconic rom com outfits. you grab it with a gasp, peter giving you a knowing smile. “oh my god! wait, where did you find this?” “they have a section with movie stuff.” there’s a han solo costume in his other hand.

you throw an arm around his neck for a quick hug. peter squeezes you and chuckles when he pulls away. it gets a sigh out of mj.

“sure you don’t wanna be the guy she ends up with?” she elbows peter’s arm. the two of you share a disgusted look. “josh? ew, he’s her ex stepbrother,” you dismiss her. “they’re, like, related,” peter adds. mj rolls her eyes almost to the back of her head and starts to walk away. “someone needs to unplug both of your tv’s.” you and peter follow after her.

of course she would suggest a couple’s costume. she was probably trying to make you both get weird. you’re always being teased for spending so much time together. even your parents and may make little comments about it. you can’t help the fact that you have almost everything in common.

peter is the only person your age who doesn’t try so hard to be cool. when you’re with him, you can be the biggest nerd and wear fluffy pajamas and play with legos. it’s a judgement free friendship.

you’ll admit you’ve wanted it to become a judgement free relationship. there’s no way he doesn’t feel your heart beating against him when you cuddle during movie nights. he has to notice your goofy smile whenever he calls you a nickname.

but, it could all be platonic in peter’s mind. maybe he sees you as more of a sister. that would make josh the perfect costume to go with you as cher.

you shutter and try to push the idea out of your mind for the rest of your time at spirit halloween.

it’s almost time for the party to start when you get back to your house. your parents let betty and ned in to start setting up on their way out. they’re going for dinner so they aren’t around to embarrass you. you have until midnight, then there’s nothing you can do. that gives you four hours.

mj is changing into the coraline costume you made her get, which she actually doesn’t hate. betty is helping you do some last minute decorating. peter and ned are putting out snacks. it’s a really good system you have.

“love the the plaid, y/n. you look so fetch!” betty compliments in between throwing fake cobwebs over your couch. you snort and finish stringing up some lights. “wrong movie, but thanks.” “oh. oops,” she shrugs and gets back to cobwebbing. “peter found it for me.” all the lights are up, so you go to plug them in. betty giggles on your way over.

your living room has an orange glow to it now. dusting your hands off, you admire your work. the moment of admiration ends when you notice how betty is looking at you. “what?” “peter found it for you,” she repeats suggestively. “when he was getting his costume, yeah,” you say like it’s nothing because it is nothing.

“so, what i’m hearing is he wanted to see you in a skirt.” you furrow your eyebrows at her. “what? no, he just-“ she wiggles her own eyebrows at you. you’re going to start sweating if you talk about this any longer. too aware of yourself now, you pull down your skirt and trudge over to the stairs. “i’m gonna go check on mj.”

you’re in the middle of convincing her she looks great and to leave your room when everyone calls your name downstairs.

“what?” you shout back from behind the closed door. “you should get down here.” it’s only peter this time. mj widens her eyes at you, but you’re gone before she can say she isn’t wearing this again.

you make your way down the stairs. the three of them are huddled in front of the door. “is someone here?” you mouth, ned looking off to the side awkwardly. they all move out of the way so you can see who it is. it’s flash. you’re obviously surprised to see him at your house, especially since he’s supposed to be having his own party right now.

“um, what are you doing here?” you try not to sound mean. “didn’t you invite the whole decathlon team? i’m on it.” you’d forgotten about that. peter says he’s only an alternate. flash side steps past you to get inside. you didn’t say he could come in. he heads straight to the chip bowl on your living room coffee table. you’re left shaking your head in pure confusion.

“dude, kick him out,” ned whispers to you. you wave your hand dismissively and walk over. he’s kicking his legs up on the table when you get there. “dope outfit. you look good.” he winks and crunches on a tostito. peter is clenching his jaw, but no one sees. “why are you in my house, flash?” you push the bowl away from him. “oh, yeah. my parents came home from vegas early.”

mj finally gets downstairs, squinting at whatever is going on with you while she walks over to everyone else. “i thought we could combine parties.” flash eyes your friends in a way you don’t like. “all your guests are pretty much here, so don’t worry about space.”

you look back at peter to see what he thinks. he shakes his head no. betty is nodding her head so fast you’re pretty sure she’s going to get whiplash. ned agrees with whatever she thinks, and mj doesn’t care. majority rules. plus, you could use one of flash’s playlists to liven things up. how bad could it really be?

“text everyone my address.”

people are flooding your house in the next fifteen minutes. like, your entire grade might be here. flash hooks his phone up to your speakers and blasts his songs. people grab fistfuls of candy and dance around. you’re running low on soda, but one guy brought extra drinks. alcoholic drinks, which you’re uneasy about. that was a big reason why you wanted to have your own party in the first place.

you don’t want to be a lame host, so you let it slide. a girl is sitting on top of your kitchen counter making out with someone. people are yelling so loud you can’t make out a single conversation. this is all going on and yet somehow, the most surprising thing is that they came in costume. some are more casual, like cat ears and lifeguard hoodies. it still counts.

feeling a little bit lost in your own house, you search for peter. he’s sitting on the top stair just watching what’s going on. you get his attention by throwing a mini packet of sour patch kids at him. he catches it, grinning when he realizes you did that. “i love these.” “good. they were the only ones left.” you take a seat next to him and scratch at the material of his vest for emphasis.

“i can’t believe you said yes to him.” peter opens the sour patch kids. the first one is yellow, so he offers it to you. sharing food with him always works because you each seem to like what the other doesn’t. “neither can i, but i think betty would’ve actually hurt me if i didn’t,” you joke while chewing. he rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “please. she’s too nice.”

you lean your head on peter’s shoulder and grab another gummy. he pokes your arm in protest. “this bag is small. get your own.” you’re nuzzling your cheek against him. “i told you they’re gone.” he’s about to put an arm around you when someone screams downstairs. you quickly sit up.

“i’m gonna go see what the hell that was. i’ll find you later?” peter does his best to hide his disappointment. “yeah, of course. good luck.” you clench your teeth and run down the stairs. this is somehow flash’s fault.

it’s been an hour and a half, and peter is nowhere to be seen. the chaos was just that someone really liked the song that was playing. it didn’t take you long to figure that out. when you went to tell peter, he was gone. you’ve looked everywhere for him since, except the backyard.

a pretty big group of people is out here either playing catch or talking. someone also brought a case of beer outside. you spot mj huddled up by the fence with a bottle. it doesn’t necessarily surprise you. it’s weird to see, either way.

“have you seen peter?” you walk up to her. she uses the bottle to gesture somewhere. he’s in the middle of a conversation with liz. your entire body feels like it’s collapsing into itself. it didn’t cross your mind she would be coming even when the party moved to your house.

she’s nice and all. you don’t have any issues with her. not that she knows about, at least. peter had the biggest crush on her for about a month, then it fizzled out. that’s what he told you. unless, he said that to save face.

you’re speechless. mj figured you would be. she gives you a sympathetic smile and holds out her beer. “yep. drink up.” your instincts tell you to take it, so you do. she heads back inside and leaves you alone with your thoughts. that’s not good for you. the only to way to get rid of them is by chugging the rest of this bottle.

you’ve never had your own drink before, and technically you aren’t now. this is still the most alcohol you’ll ever have in your system. before you can change your mind, you take a generous swig. it’s bitter. you don’t hate it as much as you expected to, though.

your eyes land on liz touching peter’s shoulder. that inspires your next big gulp of beer. you finish off the rest, and it hits you fast. you’re understanding why this is such a popular vice. you don’t feel anything but how tipsy you are. light and floaty. you decide to stumble back into the kitchen and find out what other drinks people brought.

the bright color of your costume catches peter’s attention. he was wondering where you were. excusing himself from liz, he follows you in. you bump into betty on your way to the punch bowl someone filled. she’s holding a red solo cup with the mystery liquid. both of you buzzed, you laugh and grab her arm.

“sorry. s- sorry.” you’re squeezing behind her, her angel wings brushing against your face in the process. you have to weave through everyone to make it to the drink table. peter meets you there when you’re getting a cup. he’s shocked.

“y/n?” smiling lazily, you take a sip. “hey, peter. pete.” the sober voice in your head tells you to stop talking. he probably shouldn’t know you’re drunk. then again, your cup gives it away. “y/n, have you been drinking?” he sounds concerned. everything is funny to you right now. you giggle out a “yes.”

peter doesn’t want to be that person, but you’re not acting right. he reaches for your drink. you pull it away too abruptly, and some of it spills onto the floor. “you... you’re so...“ you start losing your balance. “woah.” peter wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. he takes the drink out of your hand and sets it on the table.

frowning, he throws your arm around his shoulders so he can help you get upstairs. “come on, y/n/n.” you don’t argue this time. you’re at the part of being drunk where it doesn’t feel good anymore. peter holds you close to his side and walks you out of the kitchen. he stops to talk to ned for a second.

“hey, man. y/n’s parents are gonna be home soon. could you get everyone out?” he says into his ear. “why can’t she do it?” peter moves out of the way so he’s not blocking you. ned sees. you’re completely faded. “oh, shit. is she okay?” he whisper yells. “i’m gonna take care of her.” “i’ll tell everyone to go.” peter presses his lips into a tight smile, then he’s taking you up to your room.

you flop down onto your bed face first. peter shuts the door behind you. “you okay?” he chuckles, you nodding with your face smushed into the comforter. he’d think it was cute if you weren’t piss drunk. gently nudging you, he moves you so you’re on your back.

“let’s get you out of this.” “ooh, betty was right. you do like me in a skirt,” you giggle and bat your eyelashes at him. he huffs. “no, i mean you have to put on pajamas.” you’re pouting now. “you don’t like me in a skirt?” after going through your drawers, he comes back over with a big t-shirt and fuzzy pants. “i never said that.”

you grin again and grab them from him. “ha.” “do you need help changing?” he sits at the edge of your bed. you’re still laying down. he’s not sure you can handle getting up. “no. don’t be creepy,” you say completely serious. peter has to remind himself you’re drunk. “you were the one who thought i wanted you naked, but ok.”

making peter close his eyes, you peel the costume off your body. you got pretty sweaty. you kick everything onto the floor and start putting on your pajamas. your head gets stuck in an arm hole by accident, so peter has to fix that. the rest is fine. he’s about to bring you into the bathroom to brush your teeth, but you face plant into his lap. you’re out.

the next morning, you wake up feeling like ass. your breath is hot and tastes disgusting. your head is pounding. you could throw up. you’re not even sure how you ended up in your bed. then, you notice peter sitting at your desk. he must have helped you in.

a vague memory of him tucking you under the covers while you whined comes back to you, along with a few others. one of them is of him and liz. the whole reason you did this to yourself.

“hey.” your voice comes out hoarse. “hi.” peter nods and points to your night table. there’s a fresh glass of water. you drink it all down as fast as humanely possible, a hand on your heart. it doesn’t phase him after what you did last night. you set the empty glass down and pat the spot next to you. peter sits by your side.

he’s still dressed as han solo, but his vest and belt are sprawled out on the floor. the boots are under your desk. he actually stayed all night for you.

“i think i’m hungover.” you rest your head against his arm. his body relaxes. “you didn’t drink that much. mj said she gave you half a beer,” he almost laughs, you groaning. “that means i’m a lightweight.” “for now.” your arm wrapping around his, you look up at him.

“sorry you had to deal with me. am i in trouble?” “nah, your parents don’t know. we cleaned everything up before they got home.” he lightly pats the top of your head with two fingers. you squeeze your eyes shut when he does it. “you did? thank you so much, wow.” peter nods and smiles for a second.

he lays his back against the pillow on his side. “let’s just pretend that never happened.” “you’re good at pretending,” you mumble to yourself. you’re not as quiet as you think because peter hears it. “um, what?” you feel too woozy to come up with a cover. letting out a breath, you take your head and hands off of him.

“i saw you talking with liz.” “she wanted to know if i could lead decathlon practice next week. she’s not gonna be in school,” he says slowly, not getting it. “why?” having to spell it out is making you frustrated. “didn’t you say you don’t like her anymore?” “yeah, i don’t.”

“so, why was she being all... touchy?” the jealousy is clear in your voice. peter shrugs. “that’s how liz is. i still don’t get why it matters.” you ease yourself to sit up and turn to face him. those three words you’ve been meaning to tell him are on the absolute tip of your tongue. they’re about to come out.

then...

“i like you, y/n.”

peter says them for you.

you’re so surprised you nearly vomit for real. or, it could be the possible hangover. almost a minute has gone by when you realize you’ve been sitting there with your mouth hanging open. you swallow your spit. “you... you do?” “a lot. i kept trying to tell you, but there was never a good time.” his voice is softer now.

“i realized after homecoming. i wished i went with you instead of...” he doesn’t have to finish the sentence. you nod, a small smile spreading across your face. peter’s eyes are so hopeful. “i like you, too. a lot.” your gaze trails down to his lips.

“i’d kiss you if my breath didn’t stink.” “i’ll let you owe me one.” he’s fully grinning now, and both of you laugh. they’re the kind of laughs you do because you’re so happy you don’t know what to say.

peter presses his lips to your temple, your eyes fluttering closed. “get some more sleep. i’m gonna ask you out when you wake up,” he mumbles against your hair. you grab his hand that’s resting on the comforter. “can you stay with me?” “of course.”

he lays down next to you. you pull back the covers so he can get under them. your head is resting on his chest, an arm around his torso. both of his hug your waist. you’re instantly comfortable cuddled up in his embrace. you drift off to sleep with a smile.

this feels like such a dream. it’s the exact type of situation you’d make up in your head. but, it’s real. peter is still holding you when you wake up. he’s not going anywhere.

#tom holland #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #peter parker smut #tom holland x reader

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saltymiraculer · 4 years

Text

Ceremonial Kisses (Part 1 of 3)

Part 2

So I decided to try my hand at the “Marinette, the princess of China” trope and see how I did! Tell me what you think?

Also, the first chapter is going to be fluffy, the second chapter’ll have a sprinkling of salt, and the third chapter will be a mix of piles and piles of salt and some fluff. Be warned!

“I’ve got a big, big, big announcement for you today, class!“ Bustier chirped, clapping her hands to get their attention. “China’s princess will be coronated in a week and a half, the day she turns 18, as many of you know, and one class from the school will be selected to travel to China and watch the ceremony. Guess which class it was?“

“Uhhh…Mme. Mendeleiev’s!“

“Ooh, M. D’Argencourt’s? They’ve wanted that trip for weeks!“

“No, class, it’s ours! In three days, we’ll board the plane to Asia and have a few days to sightsee and explore, then attend the coronation on the second-to-last day!“

“Wow! Why our class?“ Kim asked.

Marinette knew exactly why. Marc had told her that the entire school was sick of Lila’s lies and wanted to enjoy the coronation without her butting in in the middle of the assembly to tell a ‘story’ about herself.

But she couldn’t just say that.

“You know, I actually know the princess,“ Lila said, immediately drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “But her identity is being kept a secret for now. That’s how we landed the trip!“

“Wow, Lila!“

“That’s amazing!“

“So cool of you.“

“They know that’s stupid, right?“ Alya stage-whispered, earning a glare from Lila’s new puppy–more commonly known as Kim. She shrugged. “I’m just tellin’ the truth!“

Alya, who was now her only other supporter next to Nino (and technically Adrien, but she’d discuss that later–it was very complicated), had decided to Google Lila’s name during a sleepover and found…some rather incriminating Facebook posts.

After that, she was 100% team Marinette and an amazing friend, along with Nino, who had decided that he needed a theme song. No one knew why.

But they loved him anyways!

So while Bustier was rattling off facts about Chinese emperors and kings and queens, Nino was showing them his latest idea to expose Lila.

“Okay,“ he started. “First, we go to China. Then we do our sightseeing and shit, and then. I did some research, and we can ask the princess questions if we’re with a national news channel. Alya’s blog counts. For real, we can talk to the princess of China. And we ask her if she knows Lila.“

“Brilliant plan, Nino. I wonder how the princess will react to a few teenagers in the middle of a crowd of famous people.“

Nino frowned. “The princess is only, like, 17. She’ll probably notice us, Als.”

“Oh, that reminds me, your birthday’s on the same day as the coronation, Marinette! Weird, isn’t it? That you and the princess have the same birthday?“ Alya asked, pulling out her phone and swiping through something.

“Huh, yeah. You’re right. Maybe we can invite her to my birthday party?“

“Ooh, the wiki page says she likes custard buns, and I’m not sure how they know that,“ Nino chuckled. “but make sure to stock up on those.“

“Noted,“ Marinette said drily as Bustier turned to them with a condemning look on her face. “Alya! I hope what you’re doing on that phone relates to the lesson!“

“China’s princess’s identity is being kept a secret because the last two were sent death threats, dangerous items, highly innapropriate items, and several other things that prompted them to not reveal the princess until it was necessary.“

“C-correct, Alya. Good job.“

“Nice!“ Marinette mouthed, high-fiving Alya, who flipped her phone around to reveal a website about the princess.

-🌸-

The final bell rang as several of the students cheered. One school day until the trip over, three more to go. Alya swung her bag over her shoulder and bumped Marinette’s elbow. “We goin’ to your place to hang out?”

“Yeah, my dad’s out anyways and mom closed the bakery for the afternoon. let’s go!“ Alya took Nino’s hand and walked the short distance to Marinette’s house. They entered and immediately felt something off.

Ah, there it was.

Sabine was leaning over the counter with a cup of very strong-smelling peppermint tea beside her. She was rubbing her temples and muttering to herself in rapid Mandarin.

“Maman? Are you alright?“ Marinette asked worriedly. Alya and Nino stood by the door–they had only seen her like this once before, when her cousin had been run over and killed.

“Yes, dear, everything’s okay, it’s just–there’s something I need to tell you.“

“Oh, no, did something happen to someone?“

“No, no, everyone’s just fine. I can’t not tell you without there being serious problems.“

“So what is it? What’s so important you had to close the bakery?“

“You’re the princess. China’s princess. The one nobody knows about.“

“I’m what?!“ Marinette screeched, grabbing at her hair. “I’m the heir to the throne of the most populated country in the world, and you waited until a week before the coronation to tell me?!“

“Holy shit.“ Alya and Nino said simultaneously. Sabine stared at them, likely just realizing they were there.

“Oh. They know now, too. Perfect, that’s just what we need, a reporter knowing who–“

“Maman! Alya wouldn’t tell a soul, I know she wouldn’t.“

Sabine turned to Alya. “I’m sorry, dear, I’m just stressed. With that trip to China in a few days and all that, we’ll have to close down the bakery for about a week.”

“And we never close down the bakery.“ Marinette finished, putting a steady hand on her mom’s shoulder. “But I know just the person to run it while we’re gone.“

As she was about to say who exactly would run the bakery, Nino backed into the door, wide-eyed.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. My best friend…holy shit.“

“Nino, I know this is a lot, but we’ll have to stay calm,“ Alya said, grabbing his hand. “So we don’t spill her secret. That’s top priority, all right? Don’t–tell–anyone.“

Nino sighed. “Sorry, babe. This…“ he turned to Marinette. “Do you have any cookies?“

Marinette grinned and led them into the kitchen. “Of course! Chocolate chunk or raspberry frosted?“

“Raspberry, all the way!“

“There’s the Nino I know!“

After a quick cookie interval, Marinette pushed her plate away and sighed. “Anyone up for an impromptu sleepover? You all left a bunch of your clothes here the last few times.”

“Marinette. If you know us, you will know our answers.“ Alya said solemnly.

“Hell yeah. Wanna go choose which terrible rom-com to watch this time?“

They ended up settling on The Kissing Booth, one of Marinette’s personal favorites (”To lighten the tension, you know?” Alya had said. “Although the tension in here probably weighs the same as an obese hippopotamus at this point.”) and made a bowl of caramel popcorn, with a tiny bag of sea-salt Skinny Pop for Nino.

“Sugar on popcorn is a crime, man. I ain’t touching that.“

“You’ve tried it once, Nino.“

“Yes, and I hated it. Is there anything else to be said?“

So they spent the next two hours in a blanket fort that was made almost entirely of throw pillows laughing over Elle and Noah and Lee being idiots, with a few highlights such as the iconic “Ninth grade skirt, eleventh grade body” scene, where Alya snorted and said “You know, Lila’s skipped so much school, might as well be ninth grade brain, eleventh grade work.”

“Too true,“ Nino agreed. “The other day, she called Chloe’s mom Aurora Bourgeois. That was a pretty major mess-up.”

“Shhh! Let’s just watch the movie!“ Marinette said, effectively quieting them down.

They watched the rest in silence with the usual laughs., ending up falling asleep halfway through the second movie, snuggled up on their respective couches. Marinette mother shook them awake the next morning, telling them to take showers and eat breakfast and get dressed and for god’s sake, Marinette, finish your homework.

“Crap, crap, crapcrapcrap! Nino, we’re going to be late if we don’t get ready fast!“ Alya shouted as Marinette ran up the stairs to change. “Can I use your shower, M?“

“Sure!“ was the muffled reply.

After about 10 minutes of running around and shoving waffles in their mouths, they grabbed their bags and ran off to school.

They burst through the door in the nick of time, the bell ringing just as they plunked down their things.

Bustier wasn’t there five minutes into the class, so they started talking.

“Marinette, you have to listen to Nino’s latest track, it’s–“ Just as she was about to describe Nino’s latest track, a bouncy-ball the size of a walrus snashed through the wall, nearly taking off Kim’s head.

There was a cackle from outside. “I am Gradack! You will all feel the same sorrow that I did!“

-🌸-

The fight was over relatively fast, and everything was calmed down and restored before their next class. Turns out Chat Noir didn’t show, so Marinette had to ask Alya for assistance.

In hindsight, she probably should have picked a better place to transform.

“Tikki, spots on!“ After she transformed, she was about to go to Fu to get one of the Miraculous, when she heard a strangled gasp.

“…shit.“

“My best friend is the princess of goddamn China and Ladybug? What the fuck?! Who are you? How did I not know? When did–“

“Alya, I know the feeling, but you can’t tell anyone. Got it?“

“Nino?“

“Well,“ Marinette paused to think. “Yeah, I guess. I trust him enough. Now, take this and transform!“ she tossed Alya the hexagonal box, and after a quick transformation, they ran off to defeat the saddened graduate of an akuma.

As she said, it was an easy fight.

They comforted the victim with four minutes (each) to spare, then ran back to the locker rooms to transform back.

Time Skip!

It was the morning of the flight to China, and she was ecstatic. Of course, she had to get up at 3:45 in the morning, but it was worth it–the flight took off at six in the morning, of course.

She could see the logic of wanting to arrive at 12:00, but she would’ve much preferred a red-eye.

Then she wouldn’t have had to stay up all night reading, because no way in hell would she just wake up at 3:45 in the morning.

The alarm would’ve had to go off for hours.

But back to the morning, she poured herself a sasquatch-sized mug of coffee, with about a gallon of cream and enough sugar to put an entire city of diabetics into shock, she started getting dressed.

Trudging around and haphazardly pulling out shirts, she finally decided on a simple red-and-orange flannel, a white t-shirt, and a pair of cropped jeans.

The she downed the rest of her coffee with an apathetic “Bottoms up!” and slapped her cheeks.

She grapped her suitcase and walked outside to where her mother was typing away on a laptop in the pitch-black night.

“Mom, why are you up?“

“Because I have to drive you to the airport, that’s why. And no alarm would be able to wake me up at 3 in the morning.“

“Preach. I’m ready to go, so can we get in the car now?“

After driving to the airport and saying goodbye to her mom, she walked into the airport and immediately saw the group of sleepy teens (and a certain disheveled teacher) leaning on their suitcases, trying not to fall asleep.

Nino and Marinette were already there, their eyelids drooping. The only person who looked properly awake was Sabrina, who was–inevitably–holding a saucer out to Chloé, who was sipping from a teacup.

Alya rolled her eyes and walked over to Marinette and Nino. “Who’re we missing?”

“Kim and Rose. They’re carpooling, so they should be here any minute.“

Just as Marinette had said, a few seconds later, Rose and Kim walked into the airport. Kim was still wearing pajama pants.

Another Time Skip!

“Marinette.“ Alya groaned, shaking Marinette’s shoulders. “Marinette, wake up, we’re here.“

Marinette’s eyes fluttered open. “No. Five more minutes.”

“Everyone else is already off the plane!“

“Shit. Let’s go!“ Marinette said, jumping up, grabbing her purse (which she had recently learned concealed a kwami) and scrambling out the door.

Alya picked up the mini-backpack she now carried (which held Trixx, cookies, and some grape jelly) and followed her out the door.

Almost as soon as they stepped off the plane, they heard a loud wail.

“Great. She’s back on her bullshit.“

“I just can’t believe she would steal that, Lila! It’s so unlike her!“

“M-maybe, but there’s p-proof! Look!“

“Oh, great, what did we do this time?“ Alya asked exasperatedly. They watched as Lila held out the remains of–from what they could see from a meter away–a sketch of an orange mermaid gown with a black lace collar, ripped into quarters and laid out on the ground.

Marinette gasped beside her.

“That’s your dress, isn’t it?“

A small tear made its way down Marinette’s face. “It was going to be for you,” she said softly.

Alya threw her arms around Marinette and rubbed her shoulders. “It’s okay, sweetie. Once you’re princess, we’ll sue her for all she’s worth.”

Marinette detached herself from Alya and wiped her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Alya.”

-🌸-

Nino stormed up to where Alya and Marinette were standing with a furious expression on his face.

“That fox,“ he seethed. “that bitchy little fox of a liar stole your drawing.“

Marinette chuckled wetly. “Yeah, we know.“

“Are you okay? I know how important they are to you.“

“I’m fine, Nino, and o–who the hell are you?“ A man in an oddly formal suit was standing next to her, holding out a small red envelope.

Marinette plucked the envelope from his fingers, opened it, and read the contents. She looked up and nodded at the suit-wearing guy.

“Good. In that case, Miss Dupain-Cheng, I’m going to need you to come with me.“ Alya and Nino immediately stepped in front of her in a protective shield.

“She’s not in trouble, is she?“

The strange man looked surprisingly amused. “Not at all–but you might want to come with us, too. You as well, headphone-boy.”

Nino put a hand on his chest and gasped in offense.

“Nino. He’s going to drive us to the palace. You’re coming, too, ya doof!“ Nino made a noise of realization and followed them out to where a black limousine was waiting.

They climbed in and drove off.

About five minutes into the drive, he moved his foot to the side, accidentally kicking a black box.

Just as he was preparing his final goodbyes, it sprung open, and inside was a junk food lover’s heaven.

“Dude.“

#ml #ml salt #ml salt fic #marinette dupain cheng #marinette deserves better #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #alya sugar #nino sugar #lila rossi #lila salt #lila bashing #adrien agreste #adrien salt #adrien bashing #marinette the princess of china #WHY ARE YOU READING THE TAGS

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froggy-frogz · 3 years

Text

Sick!Avengers x Reader

A/N: I wanted to do something for everyone that's following me because I see that a whole bunch of people are following me and, it means a whole lot! So, here is my little project for everyone! I'll be including; Thor, Loki [cause why not :)], Steve, Bucky, Bruce, Natasha, Peter, and Sam!

-Sick Thor -

+ When Thor's sick, he thinks he's dying, and he needs constant attention.

+ This man is unaccustomed to getting sick, so he probably thinks he's dying.

+He won't want you near him, so it will take you a few hours to convince him to let you help him.

+ When he finally caves, you bring him soup and have him sit up so you can feed him.

+ Thor protests against this.

+ "The God of Thunder does not need any help to eat soup,"

+ You still feed him the soup.

+ Once he's feed, and you set the bowl aside, you're instantly in his bed.

+ You coddle him in any way you can; running your hands through his hair, massaging his shoulders, peppering kisses on his face.

+ He protests again, but once you assure him that you aren't moving from your spot, he quickly shuts up.

+ If you play with his hair for too long, it will knock Thor out, and well, sick Thor sleeps for hours on end.

+ You can't help but take pictures of the sleepy God.

+ Once you're sleepy enough, you join him in the realm of the unconscious

- Sick Loki -

+ Unlike his brother, Loki will demand that you take care of him, but in his own 'nice' way of asking.

+ He likes being pampered by his s/o, it makes the sickly God secretly happy whenever he does get sick from time to time because he knows you will pamper him to the best of your extent.

+ Loki however, will insist that you don't kiss him on the lips so the risk of you also getting sick will lessen.

+ To be honest, you won't be leaving his side for the entire time he's sick unless it's a bathroom break.

+ Is either of you hungry? Loki will magick some food for you. Do you want to watch some TV? He'll flick it on to your favorite show.

+ The truth is, he just wants you to hold him until he gets better, he thrives in all the attention you give him.

+ He does understand if you need a break from his clingy ass, but once you're back in his bed, you better bet that he's going to be holding onto you.

+ If you get sick because of him, Loki is going to make sure that you 1000% more attention than you gave him, and that seems like it'd be hard to beat, but not for Loki.

-- Sick Steve -

+ Thanks to that super-soldier serum, Steve hardly ever gets sick.

+ But when he does, it doesn't take long for him to get better.

+ When you insist that you take care of him, Steve is going to protest.

+ "[Y/n], I'll only be sick for a day or two, I'll be fine, plus, I don't want you to get sick too."

+ He caves when you won't move from his room, and he's too weak [funny, isn't it, picture a Captain American who can't even get out of bed because of how sickly he is] to try to get you out of his room.

+ He won't let you cuddle him for a few minutes until you pout enough that his heart tugs and he opens his arms for you to climb in next to him.

+ Honestly, it's just going to be cuddles, cuddles, cuddles until Steve gets better.

+ He promises once he gets better that you're going to get a special breakfast in bed for taking care of him.

+ What can I say, Steve is a gentleman, and he wants to show you that he's grateful for you.

+ When Steve falls into a deep sleep, you can't help but 'awe' at how cute he is.

+ Despite his pale face, and the sickly red tint to his cheeks, he's still as adorable as ever.

+ After a day or two of lots of sleep and soup, Steve is good as new, and oh boy, that breakfast in bed was worth getting sick from him.

- Bucky - + I see Bucky as wanting to be babied when he gets sick.

+ Honestly, this poor baby has been through so much, that when he's in such a helpless state, he only wants to be held by you.

+ Like Steve, Bucky doesn't tend to get sick, so when he does, make the best of it, because it's a side of him you won't get to see often.

+ He's going to be in such a sickly state, that he's going to be a bit hazy, so he's going to be telling you how much he's grateful and just how much he loves you /a lot/.

+ "[Y/n]?" "Yes?" "Did I tell you how much I love you?" "Yes, many times now babe."

+ Honestly, this is the only time that Bucky acts his age.

+ He's an "old man", and when he's sick, he really does act like it.

+ You're going to fetch everything and anything he needs.

+ Food, TV, a magazine, water, ibuprofen, basically everything.

+ When he finally gets better, and if you get sick, he will feel so bad.

+ This man will apologize again and again.

+ You will laugh and insist it's okay, and tell him that he can make it up if he takes care of you.

+ And, oh boy, does he.

- Bruce -

+ Bruce is going to be the toughest to convince to let you into his room when he's sick.

+ He gets sick now and then, but he is used to it.

+ He doesn't want to get you hurt, he is just so worried about hurting you.

+ He doesn't want to accidentally turn into the "other guy" because when he's sick, he has a looser hold on turning into Hulk.

+ It does take a while, but you finally convince him-

+ "[Y/n]- if I turn into him-" "Bruce, you aren't going to."

+ You'll read to him, as you cuddle up to him.

+ It helps him fall asleep.

+ When he falls asleep, you make food for him, as he probably hasn't eaten the entire he's been sick.

+ Bruce will make you shower after every day that you spend with him when he's sick, just to make sure that you can wash his sick germs off of you.

+ He won't let you sleep with him, that's where he'll put his foot down.

+ Not because he doesn't love you or trust you enough, but because he doesn't want you to catch whatever he's got.

+ When he gets over his sickness, he will tell you how grateful he is, with flowers, chocolates, or anything he can muster/think of.

- Natasha -

+ Natasha is a lot more laid back when she's sick.

+ She has no problem feeding herself, sleeping all day, watching movies all-day-

+ Hell, she sees a vacation from work.

+ However, she'll tell the other Avengers and Fury that you won't be working until she's better again.

+ Again, she just wants an excuse for you and her to spend some quality time together.

+ She's not clingy when she's sick, but if you want to cuddle and watch stupid rom-coms and laugh at them with her, she is very down for that.

+ Natasha is, again, going to be a lot less low strung than the others. She says if you get sick then she'll take care of you-

+ Sleeping with a sick Natasha is a fun thing in and of itself.

+ I see her getting cold when she gets sick so be prepared for her to either, hog all the blankets or, have to steal all the blankets in the Stark Tower.

+ When she's all better, she's going to plan something romantic, like a date, something small to show how much she loves you

- Peter -

+ Peter's going to want you over when he's sick, and well, could you say no to him?

+ He won't force you to stay, but he will ask if you want to sleepover.

+ Aunt May is fine with it too, she's just glad that she won't have to take care of + Peter full time, and if you don't mind, she'll even have you bring Peter's favorite fast food over.

+ Peter's clingy when he's sick.

+ He only wants to be held or hold you.

+ When he's sick, and thanks to his spidey senses, and his superpower, he doesn't get sick that often, he sleeps, a lot.

+ Like this boy will sleep all day.

+ Not that you don't mind, you got a free day off of school/work just to take care of him and that's what you're going to do.

+ You'll probably get sick, and Peter will return the favor in a heartbeat.

+ He'll get you anything you want because he loves you that much.

- Sam -

[I wanted to include him, I don't see too many fanfics for Sam :( ] + When Sam's sick, he's a lot like Bruce.

+ “Babe, it's not a big deal, just give me a day and I can get over this cold." "Sam- for heaven's sake let me take care of you-"

+ It'll take you a good hour or two of begging for him to finally cave.

+ He's not much different from when he's sick and from when he's not sick.

+Sam does get hungry though, really hungry.

+ I mean, he's laying down all day.

+ He will beg that you go get his favorite food for him.

+When you do, he'll give you a slick, snotty kiss on the cheek.

+ [It's a real mystery on how you got sick-]

+ Bucky is going to pop in just to tease him, and Sam loses his shit.

+ You have to kick Bucky out, for everyone's sanity.

+ Sam gets over his sickness, as promised, really quickly.

+ He does feel bad but not too bad that he got you sick.

+ "I told you so."

#avengers x reader #thor x reader #loki x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #natasha x read #peter x reader #peter parker x reader #sam x reader #bruce x reader #captain america x reader #winter solider x reader #black widow x reader #spiderman x reader #falcon x reader #jojo x reader #x gender neutral reader

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meet-me-in-the-kitchen · 4 years

Note

Hi!!! I've just gotten my wisdom teeth removed and I'm emotional wrecked. Who knew I would miss those little shits? Anyway, could you maybe write something short about Y/n having her wisdom teeth removed and being super sad and in pain and Harry is just there to help her feel better? I love your writing and honestly read all of your work twice at the least. ILY

ANESTHESIA AND LETTING GO

(She would stare at him like he was god’s single greatest gift to humanity.)

“You’re gonna take care of me?” she garbled, gaping so he could see the gauze squished into her mouth and a little bit of blood trickling out of the recent incisions. He tried both not laughing or wincing, but couldn’t help an endeared little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at her genuinely awed expression, as if she couldn’t believe he was actually there. Thsy’d had to remind her a few times that he was her boyfriend, which worried him a bit at first—he reckoned he’d watched The Vow a few too many times.

“Yes, lovie,” he’d rasped, a warm chuckle rumbling in his chest as he brushed away a lock of hair that was dangling dangerously close to her open mouth. This seemed to cheer her up, because she made a contented little cooing noise, the kind you would expect to come from a woodland creature or a baby, before nuzzling her cheek against his knuckles, gazing up at him shyly while blushing a bit. The older dentist in the room had sighed wistfully while passing by for her post-operative check-up, while her younger assistant sniffed jealously. Loopy from drugs or not, y/n took one look at the woman’s lustful gaze on harry’s bottom and glared at her fiercely, mouth full of gauze. He’d said he was her boyfriend, hadn’t he? That made her his girlfriend and thus perfectly eligible to grab his...

“Oh!” Harry yelped in surprise when y/n’s hands reached behind him and greedily squeezed a handful of his bubbly bottom, a gesture usually performed the other way round, not that he was protesting.

“She’s a bit loopy,” Harry explained sheepishly, a little pink in the cheeks, to the dental assistant, who was now huffing and sneering down at her clipboard. y/n simply batted her eyelashes, mouth still wide open, while Harry gently placed her hands down and she sneakily let them travel down his back and then deliver a firm smack to his backside.

“I can see that,” the assistant muttered darkly. She stuck her nose up in the air, and marched out of the room.

Satisfied that her nemesis was out of the picture, y/n settled back into the chair politely and thought back to what Harry had said before about how he was gonna take care of her and how the smooth planes of his perfectly sculpted face had felt against her cheek; thoughts that once again send blood rushing to her cheeks, and send her into a fit of cute giggles, staring up at the ceiling but not particularly anything as she does so with fingers pressed slightly to her puffy lips.

“Proper spanked me in front of the dental assistant only moments ago, love, and now you’re goin’ all blushy on me,” Harry teased lowly, his own dimple poking out as this sent his girlfriend into even louder giggles, ones that she covered with her hands.

After leaving the dentist’s office, however, things had quickly taken a turn for the worse once the drugs slowly exited y/n’s system. dental pain is quite arguably one of the most excruciating pains to exist on the face of this planet. especially if you’re the one going through it. and besides the physical pain...y/n seemed to be having some attachment issues to her teeth, as well.

“...Harry?” y/n whimpered, curling further into her boyfriend’s chest and looking dolefully up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. His forest green eyes flitted to hers in surprise of her sudden wakefulness. She’d been silent most of the car ride back, after ten minutes of initial happiness and humming his songs loudly under her breath. Once they were back home, she’d clung to his side, and he had to carry her up the steps to their flat, bridal style, because she was kind of flopping all over the place, but he didn’t mind an excuse to hold her so close to him. He helped her into a jersey that smelled just like him to comfort her while she was still neurotically out of it, her cheek squished to his chest while he put Tiger King on Netflix, but admittedly paid more attention to he, looking down every now and then to see a deep-set frown on her fresh face.

“What is it, baby?” he asked. She decided he loved his voice as he talked to her like this, because it was low and pleasant and he took his time saying each word, so it rolled off his tongue like syrup with authenticity and an accent that knew no exact heritage, but Harry. His green eyes were attentive, fingers stroking down her back. “do you need anything?”

“I hurt,” she sniffled, lips trembling. He pouted in response, turning over so he could hold her properly, hips melding together.

“‘M sorry. Do you want more medicine?”

“No,” she said indignantly, like it was obviously not what she would want.

“You sure?” he asked slowly, eyebrows raising. “I thought it hurt?”

“Not that,” she shook her head, eyes shifting to her nervously twisting fingers heartbreakingly. her lips trembled a bit, and Harry grew alarmed. He was him, so he’d naturally spent hours on WebMd, reading up on the side-effects of even such a common procedure as wisdom teeth removal. Had the dentist damaged the crowns of any other teeth? had she hurt y/n’s gums? what if—

“What’s wrong then, hm?”

“I— I just...” she burst into tears, sobs breaking as she choked out an explanation. In a hushed voice, she confessed: “I miss my wisdom teeth!”

He blinked once. Twice.

“You...” he paused. “Miss your teeth?”

y/n nodded, big eyes filling with tears again at the mention of her long departed acquaintances.

“Like...they were always there for me, you know?” she garbled, tears slipping down her face as Harry frantically tries to swipe them off her cheeks with his own thumbs, while also confirming that his girlfriend has, indeed, finally lost it.

“I mean,” Y/N took a deep breath before diving into a heartfelt monologue dedicated to her teeth. “I could be going through the worst day ever, and i could be a total bitch and most people would probably leave, but my teeth never left me. and like, they never even wanted to leave and they were always there, but I never even tried to make them feel wanted,” she sniffled, blinking back tears dramatically while Harry rubbed the small of her back, handing her a tissue she blew her nose into. “I know that humans don’t need them to chew on raw animals anymore, but...can you imagine how that feels?” She empathized, emotion in her voice, “to constantly be there for this total bitch and then she just wakes up one day and feels a pinch in her mouth—“

“Not a pinch,” Harry muttered defensively, recalling Y/N screaming bloody murder the night before, but unsure as to why he’s defending her from...her.

“—and decides to tear them apart, evicting from the only place they’ve ever really known. I didn’t even say goodbye, and it makes my heart sad,” Y/N aid so defeatedly, it kind of breaks Harry’s heart, too.

“And you know the worst thing,” she whispered brokenly: “they never even saw it coming.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he stated, wiping away her tears delicately, watching her face until each one was gone, a bare sniffle the only reminder she’d been crying. “I love you too much to let you do this to yourself. We’re gonna watch a rom-com, and...”

“But, I never even named them!” she gasped wetly. He ignored her as she murmured alejandro, wisdom the wisdom tooth, and other potential names for her deceased teeth; while simultaneously contemplating if she could break into the dentist’s dustbin and maybe sneak back her teeth.

But when the day comes to an end and the drugs are flushed out of Y/N’s system, Harry takes care of her. He makes sure Y/N’s getting enough water and eating well; sets a timer to wake her up from her naps and feed her the bitter medicine her scowl suggests she wouldn’t take if it weren’t for him. He would make sure to replace her gauze even if she’s a bit squirmy from all the blood in her mouth, and most definitely wouldn’t be stingy when it came to cuddling; squeezing her so tight with his strong arms, trying his best to minimize the pain as much as possible. that meant pressing light kisses to her puffy cheeks. When she’d be up from an aching mouth, he’d be the one putting his hand under her jaw, massaging lightly, to help relieve some of the ache. He make sure her food was soft and the right consistency, and hold back her hair when Y/N’d inevitably puke from the taste of her medicine, or soothingly rub his warm hand over her back when she was tremoring from the anesthesia leaving her freezing.

“Are you staying?” Y/N asked in the morning, yawning as Harry pulled her up to his chest, stroking her hair.

“Yes,” he nodded, lips pressed to the side of her forehead. “Unless you want me to go.”

Because like her wisdom teeth, Harry would never let go.

MASTERLIST

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles x y/n #the LAST LINE LMFAO FORGIVE ME IT WAS LIKE 4 AM WHEN I WOKE TO WRITE THIS

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justkeeptrekkin · 4 years

Text

A gift to all my followers!

This is something I whacked out a couple of weeks ago- just a thank you to all my followers who’ve stuck around, or who have just found me within the Good Omens fandom! It means the world to see you guys enjoy my fics. This is my gift to you guys, now that 2019 is coming to a close!

Enjoy! x

***

It’s hard to keep track of time when they're together on a good day. It’s even harder on the best of days.

The Ritz is busy. The lunch table is inappropriately large for just the two of them. They’re sat right next to each other. Champagne is bitter-sweet on Crowley’s tongue and he could watch Aziraphale for hours, listen to him talking for hours. He measures the way Aziraphale leans towards him with a hand stretched across the table, sharing a story. Eyes bright, typically taut posture unusually relaxed. Entire aura relaxed. The feeling in his own chest, relaxed.

And so it’s harder than usual to keep track of the time. People leave after tea; people arrive for dinner; people leave after dinner. The waiters stare at them from the kitchen doors, waiting for them to ask for the bill, which they don’t. Crowley barely has it in him to glare at them.

Their knees touch for almost the entire time.

For Crowley and Aziraphale, time has only ever been a construct. However, it has also, always, been bound by celestial responsibilities. Now, they have no such responsibilities. And they are no longer being watched.

The sky is darkening just a little when they finally leave. Green Park remains busy at-

Crowley checks the time on his phone.

-Greek Park remains busy at five thirty on a Tuesday night. People line up at the bus stop, heading home from work. Tourist stands filled with union jacks litter the streets outside the park. The colonnade of The Ritz shelters them from a light bit of drizzle.

Crowley slides his hands into his negligible pockets and considers what comes next. Dining at The Ritz has always comes with a time limit, and somewhere to go immediately afterwards. Some sort of agenda. He doesn’t know what that is now.

He looks over at Aziraphale, who hovers. Hovers and fiddles with his hands. Gaze flitting about as if he’s nervous, smile flickering on and off as if he doesn’t want Crowley to notice. He makes a feeble attempt at smiling again and gestures to the rain with a small nod. “Lovely weather we’re having, eh?” he says. It’s followed by a shaky half-laugh.

Crowley frowns at him, the bottom half of his face forming a smile. He feels as if he’s watching the Angel of the Eastern gate, introducing himself at Eden. And something about the sudden awkwardness fills him with intrigue- more than that, anticipation.

He leans back against a column, hands in pockets, and surveys Aziraphale’s anxious flapping.

“Well, go on, then,” Crowley prompts. “Something’s on your mind.”

“Not on my mind, per se,” Aziraphale concedes. His eyes darting up to the roof of the colonnade, to Heaven- a habit that may take some time to kick. “An idea of sorts.” “You’ve intrigued me,” Crowley drawls.

“Nothing exciting. Only.”

The look Aziraphale gives him in the brief moment of hesitation is heart-breaking. It’s filled with hope, and a healthy dollop of apprehension, too. As if Crowley would ever deny him anything. Crowley has experienced these moments of heart-shattering, heart-squashing, heart-pummelling love many times before, and he very much hopes that he’s done an alright job of concealing it from his expression.

He raises his eyebrows at Aziraphale and waits.

Aziraphale sighs, looking uncomfortable and apparently having no intention of expanding. He expects Crowley to make the move. Unsurprising.

“I could…” Crowley starts. Aziraphale looks at him in hope again. Christ on a bike I’m a pushover, he thinks. “I could. Invite you round to mine for a drink. If… you were thus inclined.” A great beaming smile. “Oh, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Crowley huffs an almost-laugh. They look at each other. And they both let the weight of that sink in. Slowly, like the rain that’s currently seeping into the stone pavement beyond the Ritz’s colonnade.

“Right,” he announces quickly, before thoughts can escalate any further. “Off we go, then?”

“Yes, just so. Tip top.”

Crowley conjures an umbrella. It’s not as if anyone would have noticed, he tells himself, though he sees the doorman at the Ritz recoil a little in shock. They share its shelter until Aziraphale miraculously hails a cab.

***

“Best idea you’ve had all week, angel- and that includes the body swapping nonsense.”

Aziraphale is sat on Crowley’s sofa. He has been handed a glass of wine. He holds it between cupped hands like he plans to take communion. His legs are hidden behind a tartan blanket. (Crowley will never admit that he conjured such a thing long, long ago, just in case something like this might happen. Something like Aziraphale staying for a movie night, or even, staying for the night. It had always seemed so unlikely. In fact, the moment he’d created said blanket, Crowley had been so infuriated by his blind hope of ‘having Aziraphale round’ that he’d burned it.

He’d restored the ashes to its original, tartaned form just a couple of hours later.)

“It seemed like the next logical thing,” Aziraphale explains pensively, brows raised and peering down into his Malbec. “If I had a ‘to do’ list, this is what I would put on it. I haven’t sat down and watched a movie all the way through in such a long time.” This may well be true, Crowley considers, as he rifles through his DVD collection, knees against polished concrete and painted nails tapping the spine of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Meanwhile, he’s simply marvelling at the fact that they’ve never sat down and watched a movie all the way through together, the two of them, ever. They’d always had more important things to be getting on with, like saving the world or performing miracles or negotiating the terms of their Agreement. And now. Now they can-

Now they can what?

He looks back over his shoulder at Aziraphale. Aziraphale is looking at him. The angel’s gaze flicks away instantly, staring back down into his wine. It hurts something in his chest. A nice kind of hurt, like a dash too much wasabi.

Crowley takes a moment to recover from this. Then- “You. You still haven’t given me any clues. What you in the mood for, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen for the briefest moment as if he’s alarmed by this question, for whatever reason. Then he frowns to himself, purses his lips in thought. Casts his eyes around the room, for inspiration. “Something…” “If you say nice,” Crowley warns, knees hurting a little on the hard floor.

“I wasn’t going to,” Aziraphale retorts. He pauses. He adds, more quietly, “I was going to say fun.”

Crowley groans. Turns to the DVD cabinet.

“I don’t do fun,” he says slowly, emphatically.

“Alright, well. Something at least a bit light-hearted. I think saving the world rather calls for it, don’t you?” Crowley tilts his head from side to side in consideration. “It’s a fair point,” he concedes to himself more than Aziraphale. Pouts. “Don’t want to bring the mood down. Not sure I’d want to…”

The reason he doesn’t finish his sentence is because he’s just been, unfortunately, reacquainted with the more mushy end of his DVD collection. He’d forgotten that he has several Audrey Heburn films, as well as a couple of Julia Roberts classics. He glares at them. Hidden amongst the arthouse silent movies, they’re betraying just how soft he is. And Aziraphale’s watching.

The DVD boxes quiver under his stare.

“How about we start with discussing what you have,” Aziraphale tries, reasonably. “Since we can’t reach a consensus. We don’t even have to watch a DVD if you don’t want-”

“Netflix,” Crowley remembers, standing up abruptly and immediately closing the cabinet. Then, “Netflix! That’s a thing. That’s a thing that we can do.” “Oh yes- I’ve heard of that,” Aziraphale says chirpily.

“Oh, yes, well done, angel.”

Aziraphale glares.

And so the Netflix loading screen bongs into life, Crowley collapsing onto the sofa beside Aziraphale. The red wine is jostled; Aziraphale tuts. Crowley props his heels on the coffee table.

“Do you mind. I almost spilled Malbec on my shirt.” “Lots more choices now,” Crowley ignores him and begins flicking through. “Look, it’s all organised nicely in rows of genre. Love how tidy this is, look. And the search function is so much easier. Have you tried the search function on Amazon Prime, lately? Nightmare.” “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale replies lightly, spinning the wine in his glass like a whirlpool.

“Look, ‘s’got a whole section called ‘light-hearted movies’.”

“Very helpful.”

They flick through the row. They go through all of them without choosing, and end up at the beginning of the loop again. Crowley growls and hangs his head off the back of the sofa.

“Oh, pass it here,” Aziraphale sighs, putting down his wine with a decisive clink and picking up the remote. He holds it with one hand and presses the directional buttons with his other hand, as if it’s far more complicated and delicate a process than it actually is. Like an octogenarian trying to use an iPhone.

“How about this lovely looking Christmas film.“

"N- no. Anything but that. It’s October. And more importantly, no.”

“It looks ever so sweet, though. How lovely and romantic-”

“We are not watching The Christmas fucking-well Prince.”

He’d had a hand in inspiring that, and he’s too embarrassed to admit it even to himself. His evil deeds really are shit.

“No need to snap,” Aziraphale mutters.

“If you’re determined to watch something romantic and seasonal, I will accept The Holiday. If I must. Jack Black makes it bearable.”

Aziraphale lets the screen rest on the thumbnail of the movie. Then, quite thoughtfully, he says: “I like Kate Winslet. She seems like a nice woman.”

“Mm. Yeah, that’s. OK. I’m sure she is, angel.”

In all honesty, the idea of watching a rom-com with Aziraphale is border-line torture. It’s not quite as bad as waterboarding, but it’s close. More on the same level as those nightmares you get where you have to do a maths exam in your underwear, on stage, and all of your exes and crushes point and laugh at you. Not only are rom-coms pretty hit and miss- some influenced by Heaven, some by Hell, you never know what you’re going to get- they’re also a fantastic way of making Crowley feel incredibly exposed. Incredibly hot in the face from second-hand embarrassment. Incredibly aware that he’s meant to be sneering and heckling, when he’s just trying to concentrate on holding himself together. Stop the feelings from spurting out of his heart like water in a dam: feelings that he thinks are, embarrassingly, rather a lot like longing.

And yet, because it is Crowley, and this is what Crowley does, he lets Aziraphale select the movie and they watch The Holiday. They remark on the general cheesiness, the (at times) witty dialogue. The staggering amount of disbelief that has to be suspended for the plot to work. How nice Jude Law looks in glasses.

Crowley’s only sort of watching. He’s concentrating on Aziraphale. Not outright staring at him (although he does often do that, it’s a wonder he hasn’t noticed and told Crowley to sod off). Rather, letting his brain tick over the knowledge that he is right beside him. Too much of his daft, devil mind is unable to ignore the fact that Aziraphale is there.

Sometimes, it sends unhelpful thoughts his way. Like, you could touch his hand. Or, imagine feeding him popcorn- wouldn’t that be interesting. Or simply, there he is. He’s here. He’s with you. He’s chosen this.

About half-way through the film, Aziraphale starts with those sad sighing sounds, making woebegone eyes at the television- which tells Crowley that he’s getting peckish but doesn’t want to bother Crowley with it. So, Crowley casually announces that he’s heard there’s a good new Chinese restaurant around the corner, and Aziraphale brightens up again immediately. And they have to pause the film to choose what to eat, because Crowley reckons he might actually order something for himself this time, and Aziraphale ums and ahs about these things for hours anyway. And once they’ve ordered- over the app, thank God for avoiding human interaction- the food arrives, quite miraculously, three minutes later.

And once the food is gone, the film is almost finished. And Netflix seems to have decided what they should watch next, because it puts on the first episode of The Crown without asking them. Which they watch, although Crowley’s not really watching. And Aziraphale is complaining about the inaccuracies.

And at some point they end up sitting very close.

No. That makes it sound as if Crowley has no idea how they ended up that close. He knows exactly when this happened, because he hasn’t taken a breath since.

It happened like this.

They’re halfway through the first episode of The Crown, and Aziraphale has returned from the kitchen with a new bottle of red- a Pinot, this time- and he pours for both him and Crowley. Aziraphale has been sat on his own side of the sofa, and Crowley has been on his, draping his arms and legs wherever he sees fit. Now, as Aziraphale resettles on the sofa, he sits right beside him. The way Crowley is angled, his legs dangling off the arm of the sofa, means that he’s leaning in Aziraphale’s direction. Very obviously.

So he’s using all his (very little) core strength to keep himself sitting upright enough not to fall into his lap. Even if it would be very nice to let his head rest on Aziraphale’s lap. And even if he’d really like to relax a little bit and lean his shoulder against Aziraphale’s.

And for Heaven’s sake, it shouldn’t be an issue for a couple of six thousand year old beings to sit side-by-side on a sofa, and yet, here’s Crowley, having a crisis about it. It’s not as if he thought twice about pinning him against a wall.

Although he probably should have. That was a lot.

His eyes follow the way Aziraphale’s legs stretch in front of him, crossed over at the ankles. A little slouched on the sofa, shoes off. It’s about as relaxed as Crowley’s ever seen him.

“Why do you think they decided to make this TV series now, when the Queen is still alive,” Aziraphale remarks. It almost makes Crowley jump a little, so deep in thought that he’d forgotten time hadn’t stopped entirely.

“Whassat?” “Well, why do you think they’ve made the series now? It seems a bit-”

“Right,” Crowley says brain finally processing the question. “No- dunno, angel.” They both go quiet. Crowley’s hand grips the back of the sofa. The fear that he’s going to slip and lean against Aziraphale is too real. As nice as it would be-

Perfect. Miraculous. Wonderfully human.

-It would also be mortifying.

He can hear Aziraphale’s breathing. Slow. Precise and even, like he’s measuring out ingredients for a recipe. It makes Crowley’s mouth go dry with painful self-awareness.

“Do you remember,” Aziraphale starts quietly, “when you and I bumped into each other in Camden Town?” He takes a few seconds to pretend to think about this. “Yeah, ‘f course. Nineteen seventy-seven. What made you think of that?” Aziraphale shifts a little, looking at Crowley. Crowley doesn’t look back, watches the screen. If he turns towards Aziraphale, they’ll be-

“You were wearing that awful t-shirt.” That makes him laugh. A tipping-the-head-back laugh. “Oh yeah- my God Save the Queen t-shirt. Sex Pistols. Yeah, those were the days. Don’t knock ‘em, they were a good band.” “I’m sure they were.” “Don’t use that voice, they were. Anarchic music at its finest.” “I believe you, but bebop is still a little too baffling for me, I’m afraid.”

Crowley doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t know where it comes from- he thought he knew himself quite well at this point, but apparently not well enough. He feels something take over from out of nowhere. Rather, feels something erase everything else- a whiteboard rubber cleaning all the bullshit away.

And now he’s turned to Aziraphale without the babbling voice of anxiety in his head.

“It’s punk music, not bebop. And. I reckon you’d like it.” His voice is a murmur and his eyes are looking at Aziraphale’s lips. Thank Christ for sunglasses.

When he looks back up and meets Aziraphale’s gaze, he’s watching Crowley. Looking for something.

He feels his lips part, hears himself take a breath through his mouth.

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale asks weakly. A small quirk in one eyebrow.

“Y-” Fucking Hell. His throat’s all dry and he’s forgotten what words are. And now Aziraphale is definitely looking at his mouth. Fuck fuck fuck fu- “Yeah. You’re a rebel now, after all. Sort of. Breaking all those rules.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies in a whisper. Then, regaining his voice, “I suppose that’s true.”

“S- uh- mm- w- some of the songs, anyway, not all of them. You’d uh- h- some of them are a bit explicit than others and you’d probably not. Not get on with those ones.”

“Crowley…?” That’s all it takes. Thousands of years of keeping his feelings to himself and taking it slow, and all it takes is that little inflection in Aziraphale’s hushed voice. That hesitant request, draped over the sound of his name. Crowley leans in and presses his lips gently against Aziraphale’s.

There’s that horrible moment when it stops, and everything else seems to stop, too. The what next? hangs in the air and Aziraphale stutters a shaky breath against Crowley’s skin.

“Too fast?” is what Crowley ends up asking. Just to break the pause.

And then the most dazzling, drunken smile spreads across Aziraphale’s face. Brows knit together. An expression that looks a lot like “To the world.”

“No,” he half laughs, shaking his head infinitesimally. “For once, no. We… we saved the world, I rather think we deserve this.”

Something in Crowley relaxes, unhinges, collapses. It lets all the feelings free and they flood him till he swears he almost goes blind. And that is how they both end up falling asleep on the sofa, still wearing the days’ clothes and kicking off a tartaned blanket. Wrapped up in each other- starting this new era as they mean to continue.

***

Crowley wakes up and finds his head on Aziraphale’s chest. He’s splayed on top of him, arm hanging off the edge of the sofa. He feels Aziraphale’s hand, warm between his shoulder blades.

“What would you like to do today?” Aziraphale asks with a smile in his voice.

That is how it starts. They think of the things they were too scared to do together, the things that they never found the time to do together, the things they always liked to do together.

They go for a walk through Hampstead Heath, just as the weather’s beginning to turn- their breathes steaming in front of their faces as they walk. They haven’t been here since 1815. They both try to avoid the muddy parts and fail spectacularly. They make fun of each other for the mess they’ve made of their shoes. They begin by hooking their fingers together, until they’re brave enough to hold hands completely.

They go home and cook together. It goes disastrously.

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning, when they wake up on Crowley’s sofa again.

They go to some hipster bar in East London- Tobacco Docks, it’s called. They find that there’s good food, lots of good booze and an ice rink- which Crowley absolutely point-blank refuses to go on until Aziraphale makes that wide-eyed, pleading face. They have a tipsy and very clumsy skate around the rink before returning to their drinks. Crowley’s better at wine than ice rinks.

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks, when they’ve woken up in Crowley’s bed. His white hair against his white sheets. A new part of the landscape of his room.

They end up doing very little. They read together on the sofa and make tea. Crowley introduces Aziraphale to the best music ever created- disco, of course. They dance in the living room in bare feet and laugh till they can’t see through the tears.

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning.

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks the next.

They’ve saved the world, and that still seems surreal. But there’s waking up on Crowley’s sofa after a movie marathon, too. A dinner date, or a night in.

And that feels perfectly real.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #my writing #fan fiction #fic prompt

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always-there · 3 years

Text

About consent

OK guys, buckle up, because today's topic is depressing as hell.

Today I'm gonna talk about consent. I usually ponder about this while I cook, in the shower, late at night when I'm applying all my learned hypnosis techniques to force myself to sleep.

I was never taught about consent. All I had going for me was the classic "Rape is bad, avoid rape" chant the world of the 90's society thought was enough. All I saw were girls being advised to not dress like sluts and avoid being provocative in public. I got a good couple of different versions of that, mind you, as I grew up in a conservative Catholic school.

Nobody told us about the universe of potential situations contained within that fucking "Rape is bad, avoid rape". We thought rape happened when a man forced himself on a woman that was actively trying to resist him.

Black and white. No grey areas. Pretty simple.

I was fine with that. I was even judgmental towards victims, once I saw how they were dressed when they were attacked. Or if they were drunk or walking by themselves on areas widely known to be dangerous.

And then I grew up, entered the nasty-ass world of adults, and the Universe took pains to kick my ass in so many ways during 30 years that have finally lead to this post today.

So, I'm a list person. I like making lists. So here goes my one and only...

CONSENT LIST

• Dudes get raped too. Yeah. I know it's basic, but I scoffed at the concept for years. I know many people who still do. Dudes get raped too, get it into your mind. And no, it doesn't happen when they are effeminate weaklings. No. Any man can get raped. And they deserve to be treated as proper victims, with respect and compassion. The few times I've seen testimonies of male rape survivors, they reported even the police was skeptical or treating them like pussies or jokes.

• If your partner is sleeping, it's not consent. No, I don't give a fuck if you guys have been together for 20 years. No, I don't give a fuck if they wake up in the middle of it and decide to continue. I don't even give a fuck if they say they like it. If you touch, penetrate, make whatever sexual advance on a sleeping person, you are raping them. Any unconscious person is unable to give consent.

• If you're in the middle of it, having a good time, and suddenly your partner wants to stop... guess what, it's time to stop. You don't stop? You ask them to hang in there for just a while more until you're done? You power through it? Yeah, no. That's not consent, buddy.

• If you're ABOUT to do it, and the foreplay was great, and they were so into it, but when the time comes to actually go all the way, they change their mind... time to go home. Or put on a movie, or do whatever the fuck you want that is not forcing or trying to persuade your partner to go on.

• Subtle denial is a big-ass NO as well. They have a headache? Leave it. They are tired? Leave it. They have to wake up early the next day? Leave it. They fear a phantom clown is gonna haunt the bed if they indulge in intercourse that night? Leave-it. Don't persuade your partner to have sex if they don't feel like it. You know why? Because they DON'T want to have sex. Persuading or wearing someone down to say yes is not consent. It's pressure. Which takes us to the next bullet...

• If you insist that YES always means YES just like NO always means NO, I will smack you in the head with a frozen lamb leg. YES can be induced. Can be pressured. You can actually intimidate, scare, threaten and bully a person into saying yes. Maybe they are not ready. Maybe they are not sure about the relationship. Maybe they are not feeling well. Maybe they are fucking scared of you. It doesn't matter. If you have to lobby for it, leave it. You're being a creep.

• Drunk people. Good God. I can't believe this has to be an item. Leave drunk people alone! And I don't even mean passed-out drunk, I mean intoxicated but still dancing people, still talking people, I even mean, yes, dizzy or tipsy people. A person under the influence is not able to consent. Why do you think we drink, why do we call it a social lubricant, and other funny jabs? Because alcohol fights the restraint and common sense we'd had otherwise. It's a fun way to loosen up and get relaxed, but if someone has been drinking, don't hunt them for sex. I can't believe the number of movies and series that broadcast dudes trying to hit on drunk women. It still happens today, and not in a Law and Order episode, in your common everyday rom-com. This applies to every person under the influence of whatever substance they took that clouds their judgment.

And no, I won't hear it. They didn't put themselves in a position of danger. You are the danger, a threat that should not exist in the first place.

• So far so good, right? Well, tell me what you think about this. Let's say your partner doesn't want to have kids. And you do want them, for whatever reason. So, what do you do?

You mess with their birth control. Or you lie about you taking birth control. Or you lie about using a condom, or about the physical integrity and expiration date of said condom. Bam, presto manifesto, a bun in the oven.

That is fucking rape. And if you still need to ask why, because for whatever reason that was not creepy enough for you, I'll spell it out. It's rape, because the other person did not consent to that.

And now, if you still don't feel the need to go and take a shower until December, I have yet another list.

Are you in doubt? Are you not sure you are a rapist or not? Worry not! Below you'll find a funny little questionnaire ready for you to clear your mind and heart:

CAN I RAPE SOMEONE IF...

• ...they are dressing provocatively?

Answer: They could be walking down the busiest street of the city during rush hour completely naked and with a big, red silk bow on their ass, and still, nothing in the fucking world gives you the right to touch them. You are not entitled to another person's body because of what they choose to wear.

• ...we are dating?

Answer: Not if you are dating, not if you are married, not if the zombie apocalypse finally wiped out humanity and God himself descends from Heaven to pronounce you Adam & Eve 2.0 and gives you the task to repopulate the world. Dating only means you two are seeing each other on a regular basis for fun or to explore the possibility of a future together. It doesn't mean that your partner's body becomes your property, ergo, you have no rights whatsoever over it.

• ...they are seducing me?

Answer: Half of the time, nobody was seducing you, genius. If I have to hear another anecdote of how a bartender or barista o waitperson were throwing themselves on someone, I will barf in my own mouth. Servers are required to be nice, it's on their job description. But anyway, let's say for the sake of argument that yeah, they are indeed seducing you: no. Showing interest in someone is not an invitation to fuck, nor a provocation to fuck, so let things go their way and don't be a creepy jackass.

• ...I have done nice things for them?

This one I actually heard from a former, and I can't emphasize the former enough, friend. Their case was something along the lines of, I took her to dinner and a movie, later coffee and dessert, and one other lame activity I can't remember (probably drinks), paid for everything, took her home on my car... and then she refused to let me go upstairs!

Dude. Duuuuuude. And dudettes too, of course. No. If you want to get your money's worth, go to a proper sex worker, who will charge you accordingly for their services. Don't expect the other person to feel obligated to pay you with their body just because you fed them and threw a movie ticket in the package!

I had one friend go on a date with a guy. The date didn't work out, so they went their separate ways... until the guy showed up on her doorstep asking her to reimburse him for coffee and a donut. I shit you not. She was so dumbfounded she actually paid him back so he would leave, and I'm glad she did, because that, my friend, is rapist material on the making.

• ...they are a sex worker?

Answer: No, you creepy freak, absolutely not. Every single point I mentioned above applies to every human being on the planet and active or inactive Space stations. You cannot force yourself on anyone, you cannot violate consent ever. It doesn't matter if you're fooling around with the biblical whores of Babylon or the entire cast of Full Monty after a round of the blue pill. Consent protects everyone, no matter what they do for a living.

I'm so happy that all these points are not gonna be news for most of you. Awareness is spreading and the new generations are taught about consent since they are little kids. My generation, and most of all my generation in my country, dominated by a traditional patriarchal society, heard nothing of it. "Rape is bad, avoid rape" was taught mostly as a warning tale for girls. It was the girls' responsibility to prevent rape. Don't walk alone at night. Don't use slutty clothes. Don't be provocative towards men. Don't drink too much. Don't stare too much. Don't go to non-respectable places. Don't put yourself in danger.

I think things would significantly change if the song was played differently. Don't teach girls how to prevent rape. Don't teach boys that rape is bad and that "real men" don't need it.

Teach everyone about consent. Rape is only one of the grim consequences of violating consent. There are thousands of different traumatizing situations that could be avoided if we only respected consent all the time, if we were taught about healthy boundaries and personal integrity since kids.

But hey, we're getting there. I hope. I wish.

• Disclaimer: actually, I think disclaimers like this should not be needed, but still. In case you feel the urge of accusing me of speaking from theory... nope. I speak from experience. Personal experience. Experience I wish I didn't have, and that I had a very hard time harvesting to learn and become stronger. So yeah. Shut the fuck up, go out there and respect the shit out of people.

#consent #coercion #harrassment #r*ape #r*pe mention #victim blaming #it's 6 am here why I am writing about this at this ungodly hour

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restmyheadatnightcontent · 3 years

Text

speak the language of love (like you know what it means)

"Have you had any experiences recently that have caused you stress or anxiety?”

Yennefer snorts.

“Well, I went from living in a 3000 square foot penthouse flat in Cintra to a hotel room in the middle of nowhere so—”

Geralts eyes widen. “That sounds like it would do it.”

Julian Pankratz, one of the Continent's most famous playboys, always invited to the hottest parties, always seen with the best of the best, is enjoying his lavish life in his huge Cintran apartment when he suddenly gets cut off by his parents and is sent to live in the middle of nowhere.

It might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

(aka the incredibly indulgent schitts creek au that I wrote)

Bloody hell, Jaskier thinks to himself again as he dragged his suitcase through the mud. Well, one of his suitcases. One of his many, many suitcases. Looking at the small army of luggage surrounding him, he might be willing to admit that there may be a small chance he has overpacked and maybe the driver had a right to be annoyed but it’s too late to worry about that now. And what was he supposed to do? Receiving the news that he was suddenly getting kicked out and cut off meant that he wasn’t exactly in his prime packing mindset. Hence, he seems to have packed everything he owns, and who knows when he’s going to be going home.

If he's going to be going home.

Nope. Not thinking about that. He’s saving his breakdown about all this until he has had time to find lots of chocolate and lots of wine. Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he somehow manages to drag himself along with his suitcases towards the front door.

The Cock & Bull.

The Cock & Bull in Prickwell.

Despite it all, he has to admit the name is funny. He just wishes it wasn’t where he was going to be living for the foreseeable future.

Pushing the door open to the small hotel, he enters what he can only assume is the reception. It’s not a particularly large room and seems to be worse for wear (understatement of the century) but right now its most redeeming quality is its distinct lack of rain.

“Hello, welcome to the Cock and Bull. I’m Yennefer,” the woman behind the desk says tiredly, without looking away from her computer “How can I help you?”

“Hello – hi – I, uh - I believe there’s a reservation for me?” he asks “It should be under Pankratz, Julian Pankratz.”

She types the name into her computer and then frowns “I’ve got nothing down here.”

Shit. “Maybe under Alfred Pankratz?”

“Still not seeing anything.”

“Shit. Right,” he was hoping to keep this information private but without this place he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. “Erm so long story but my Dad kind of owns this place? And, I uh may have been slightly cut off? So my Dad booked me a room here as a punishment. He said forever but I’m pretty sure that was a joke and he’s just trying to teach me a lesson so he probably booked it for like a week or something?”

“Oh, that’s you. I assumed that email was a joke. But yeah, there is a room that I can put you in.”

“Great, so is it like a penthouse suite or-?”

“It’s a single room. Sorry, all our suites are booked up.” She replies with what he thinks may be sarcasm “Here’s your key. It’s room 4, just up the stairs on the right. Breakfast is from half 7 to 10 in the morning. If you need anything else, I’ll be here.” “Right.” He looks at the mountain of luggage behind him “So is there like a concierge or someone to carry my bags?”

“Do we look like the kind of place that has a concierge?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, you’re here maybe you could—"

“I have to watch the desk,” she says simply.

“Well is there a lift or anything?”

“Round the corner, but it’s a bit temperamental. I wouldn’t risk it.”

“Great.”

It takes him an embarrassingly long time and an embarrassing number of trips but eventually he manages to get all his bags up the stairs into the room.

He looks around the room. It’s not the worst place he’s ever stayed, but its close. His bags take up almost fill the room, not that there is much else in it: a small bed, a bedside table, a tiny wardrobe that can barely fit half of suitcase in it, a small TV and the most disgusting wallpaper that he has ever seen.

The one saving grace of the room is the window, or rather the view out the window. Out of the small window, in the distance he can just about make out a sandy beach and the blue of the sea.

A shower. That will make him feel better.

He steps into the tiny cubicle and lets the lukewarm water trickle over him, but instead of making him feel better, the only thing running through his mind is the conversation he had with his parents only a few hours ago.

“We’re cutting you off, Julian,” his father announced, storming into his bedroom and ripping open the curtains.

“I’m sorry?” He glanced at the clock and realised he had only been in bed for about 2 hours, having been out all night and stumbling in at 6am. He was not prepared in the least for a visit from his father. At least this time he hadn’t brought anyone home, the last time his father had barged in for a morning lecture they had had to wait awkwardly whilst the model he had spent the night with gathered her clothes and left.

“We’re cutting you off,” Alfred repeated, “You’ve been gallivanting around and partying far too much and wasting all my money and I’m sick of it,”

“Well its on my card so technically its my money!”

“No it isn’t! It is my money that I earned by working, and I will not have you waste it whoring yourself out all over the place!”

“I am not ‘whoring myself out’! And you gave that money to me and put it on my card so it’s mine!”

“I gave it you in the hopes that you would do something worthwhile with it but you’ve just pissed it up the wall, wracking up debts and you’ve turned this family into a laughing stock.”

“Well, I’m sorry for having a bit of fun! Gods.”

“Well, the fun is over now. I’ve cancelled all your accounts and I’ve sold your flat, which should just about cover the debts and we’re sending you away—”

“What do you mean ‘you’re sending me away’? I’m not a fucking child! I’m an adult and you can’t just sell my house and kick me out onto the street like some kind of dog!”

“I’m not kicking you out. I’ve booked you a room in a hotel.”

Oh well, that changes things, he had thought. A few nights in the Savoy while he waits for them to calm down won’t be too bad.

“The car will be here to pick you up in 20 minutes and it will take you to your flat to sort your things before taking you to Kaedwen.”

“Kaedwen? Why the fuck is it taking me to Kaedwen?”

“I told you – I’ve booked you a room on a hotel. And you’ll stay there for two months until you’ve sorted yourself out.”

“But why Kaedwen? Wait – are you sending me to that hotel you bought ages ago for a joke?” His father just nods and Jaskier lets out a manic laugh. “Of course you are. Fine send me off to the middle of fucking nowhere. But why are you selling my flat if I’m only there for 2 months?”

“Oh, you won’t be coming back. I’m only paying for the room for 2 months, and then it’s up to you,” he says matter-of-factly.

“But – I – you can’t!”

“Oh, I think you’ll find I can and I am,” his father says calmly “Ten minutes Julian.”

So he was taken to his flat and given half an hour to pack his belongings whilst the driver – Jon or Jan or Pieter or something – stands and watches on, whilst he frantically he throws all the clothes he can find into a suitcase, grabbing whatever he can. He at least got some help carrying his bags down to the car and throwing them in the back. Then with another glare he was shepherded into the back of the car and they were off and, well here he is.

He steps out the shower and dries himself off with towels that seem to be made from carboard, cursing himself for not packing his ones from his flat. He picks out some dry clothes and makes his way downstairs to reception.

“Do you have towels?”

“Are there not any in your room?”

“If you mean the two sheets of sandpaper that seem to be lying on my bed then yes there are. But I cannot use them.”

“Why not?” “Why not? Did you not hear me say sandpaper?”

“Those towels are perfectly fine”

“If you don’t value your skin then I suppose so.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“My towels?”

“You’ve got your towels.”

“Are you always this rude?”

“Only to people who deserve it.”

“And what I have I done to deserve it? I am in an extremely stressful situation right now, and all I want to do is take a bath, preferably with a toaster, and forget that this whole thing is happening ok?”

Yennefer stares at him, and he prays that she can’t see the desperation that is almost certainly plastered across his entire face.

“Fine, I think I have some new towels in the back. Give me a minute,” she says whilst moving towards what he guesses is the back “I’m only doing this so that you’ll leave me alone.”

She pauses at the door and turns to him, “And because you called me rude. I take that as a compliment.” And with that she’s gone.

Jaskier turns and takes another look at the room he now finds himself in, and what he now realises, with sinking heart, is going to be his new home for a while. It’s a fairly plain room, blank white walls with a few cracks running through the old plaster. There are old beams running along the ceiling and there’s a nice stone fireplace in the corner and on any other day he probably would go so far as to call it nice – a sort of country chic right out of a cute rom-com. But right now the sight of it just makes him angrier.

He is snapped out of his reverie by towels being shoved into his face.

“Here.”

Jaskier takes them and runs his fingers over them. They are still nothing compared to the lovely Egyptian cotton towels that are sitting back in his flat, but they’re better than what he had. They’ll have to do. Standing up from his chair, he suddenly realises how hungry he is.

“Is there somewhere I can get something to eat?”

“There’s a café across the road that’s open all day. There’s the pub as well if you consider an ancient packet of crisps as food.”

“Café it is then.”

read the rest on AO3!

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier #geralt #yennefer #ciri #triss #my fic #my writing

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

Text

Just A Friend

Hope you are all having a good weekend. I’m the only one awake, the sun is shining and I’m enjoying my coffee in peace and quiet. Bliss!

Thank you for the continuing support for this story. it’s lovely reading (and re-reading) all the comments.

Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

AO3

Previous Chapter

Chapter 3: From Relationship To Release

You know, I’m a great believer in relationships. Relationships come in all shapes and sizes — take my relationship with Geillis, for example.

I met Geillis on my first day of postgraduate training at Glasgow Royal Infirmary. I was spending three months in orthopaedic surgery and she was just finishing her training as a theatre nurse. We somehow kept bumping into each other at social gatherings and found we had many things in common — a childish sense of humour, an intolerance of pomposity and snobbishness, and a love of cheesy rom-com movies.

From there, our friendship snowballed, and for many years now, I’ve called her my best friend. Even the arrival of a fiancé and her forthcoming nuptials haven’t lessened our relationship in any way. Our careers have developed in parallel too. So when a vacancy came up for a senior theatre sister at the Children’s hospital, I didn’t hesitate to recommend her for the post. We work well together. For all her joking around and flippant comments she is damn good at her job. And I love her.

I don’t think I love many people. I’m very fond of a lot of people, mainly my friends. But love? No. And certainly not the romantic, live-our-life-together type of love.

I see how it can work. I look at Robbie’s parents, for example. The way they are there for each other, supporting through all the worries with their son, their comforting touches and reassuring glances.They are a solid unit and I admire that.

I also see the way that Geillis’ face lights up when she talks about her fiancé, Dougal, and the way he watches her when we are all together in the pub. And I think it’s great, I really do.

But it’s not something that I’m seeking out for myself. I don’t think I’m cut out for that type of relationship. I don’t think there is someone out there, my soulmate, to spend the rest of my life with. And I definitely don’t think that I need someone else to complete me, make me whole.

That doesn’t mean that I’m a hermit. Far from it, in fact. I do date and enjoy it, but try to steer clear of any where-is-this-relationship-going type discussions.

It may well be to do with my childhood. I’ll admit, I’ve not had the most normal upbringing and that could have coloured my view of happily-ever-after love.

I’ve never been part of a conventional family unit. Well, I mean, I was for the first four years of my life —until my parents died in a car accident. And, at that age, how much can you remember? I do have some vague memories — rough tweed fabric against my cheek as my father’s strong arms lift me up, the smell of ‘Miss Dior’ perfume as my mother’s soft hands caress my cheek, the sound of laughter as we dance around the living room to Michael Jackson. But these are only fleeting recollections, ephemeral, gone in an instant.

All my real childhood memories are centred around one man — my uncle, Lambert Beauchamp. He, unhesitatingly, took me in when my parents died and became my guardian, my parent, my rock. He and I were a team, and I miss him every single day.

He was a confirmed bachelor, and I don’t mean that in a euphemistic way. He lived his life by his own rules and if he had been gay, he would have seen no reason to hide it. No, he had no need for romantic entanglements, no complicated relationships, no messy sexual encounters. He had two loves in his life — me and his work. He was a professor at the University, teaching archaeology and could, quite happily, get lost for hours in the bowels of the archives, studying ancient Somarian drinking vessels.

Growing up he was my role model, my yardstick against which to measure boys.

And over time, I've come to realise that I've always found myself attracted to the type of men which have certain ‘Lambert-esque’ qualities. Which leads me, I suppose, to Frank.

Just like my uncle, he’s a professor at the university. In history — more recent than Lamb’s studies only three hundred years ago, not three thousand. He’s single minded about his research, like my uncle, and he cares deeply about me, which makes me feel bad because I don’t feel the same way. Of course, I care about him, just not enough for a serious relationship that’s going somewhere.

All of this is a long winded way of saying what I’ve actually known for a while now... I need to break up with Frank.

*************

I’m just contemplating whether to brave the canteen or grab a sandwich from the hospital shop, when there’s a knock at my office door and a hand appears brandishing a couple of distinctive Gregg’s paper bags. This hand is closely followed by the rest of Geillis, who plonks herself down on one of my visitor chairs. A wonderful aroma of freshly baked goods wafts across the desk. My stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Steak bake or sausage roll?” she asks as she places both bags on my desk, although she knows my preference.

“Ooh, how did you know I was just thinking about lunch?” I pick up one of the bags, the oozing gravy on its surface being a clear giveaway.

“We’ve been friends fer long enough,” Geillis smiles. “I ken what ye’re thinking. In fact, ye’ve something on yer mind right now. No’ a work thing. C’mon, spill.”

I swear, it’s uncanny. In the Middle Ages Geillis would undoubtedly have been tried as a witch. Her powers of deduction are that good.

I say nothing for a moment and focus on my lunch, blowing ineffectually on the hot meat filling.

“Weel? I’m waiting and ye ken I’m no’ a patient woman, Claire. This is tae do wi’ Frank, is it no’? Are ye planning on dumping him?”

See what I mean? Witchcraft.

“You make it sound so harsh. But I can’t carry on with Frank, he’s investing more into this… this—“

“Ye can say the word, Claire. Relationship… R… E…—“

“I know, I know. But I have to do something. I know Frank wants more than I want to give in this ‘relationship’.” I enunciate clearly just to make the point to Geillis. I’m not afraid of the word… I can say it.

“Anyway,” I add casually as I dab at the pastry crumbs with my finger. “I thought you’d be pleased. I know you’ve never liked him.”

Geillis tuts. “‘Tis no’ a matter of like. We jes’ havena got anything in common. He’s awfa serious and ye dampen yer personality down when ye’re with him. I’ve seen ye, ye canna deny it.”

I try to interject, but Geillis ignores my sounds of protest and carries on talking. “But it’s no’ jes’ Frank. Ye do this all the time, Claire. Whenever anyone tries tae get serious, ye run. What is wrong wi’ wanting a relationship anyway?”

“I have my work, I have my friends. I date, I go out with men, I have a good, if sporadic, sex life… and a trusty dual speed vibrator. What’s wrong with me wanting my life the way I want it?”

Geillis crams the end of her sausage roll into her mouth and chews vigorously for a minute. I pass her a paper serviette for her greasy hands. She gathers up the flaky pastry crumbs that have settled on her chest, wraps them in the serviette and pops it neatly in the bin.

“Ok, I get it. I’ll back off. But all I’m saying is dinna close yerself off tae the possibility of a real relationship, aye?”

Knowing she's gone as far as she can with this topic, she gets up and heads for the door. “Nae rest fer the wicked. Oh, and Claire, jes’ one thing…”

She pauses dramatically. “Dinna forget… ye’ve gravy on yer chin.”

And with that she disappears, leaving me with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach caused by more than the calorie ridden pasty.

I am just settling down to dictate some patient letters when Frank texts to suggest dinner at my favourite Italian restaurant. This isn’t good. It’s a lovely restaurant, the kind of restaurant where special occasions are celebrated— birthdays, anniversaries, declarations…

So I have to lie… no, not lie, fib. I text back pleading a heavy day in theatre — aching feet, headache and so on.

His concerned response makes me feel bad. No need for fibbing, I do feel pretty shitty now. However, it also makes me more resolved to do what I have to do. I can’t drag this out, causing him more and more hurt. So, I invite him to my flat this evening instead.

*******

I have a final glance in the mirror in my bedroom. I do actually look a bit worn out. I haven’t really put any makeup on, just a touch of mascara and a slick of lipstick, which I have already managed to chew off.

My hair is, as per usual, a bit wild and untamed. I have a bathroom shelf full of products promising smooth and manageable curls, but have yet to find one that actually delivers on their promises. I tuck my hair behind my ears, pinch my cheeks to try to look a little less pale and head to the front door.

Frank is as punctual as ever. Unlike other things in my life, he’s always delivering on his promises. Which makes me feel even worse. I have nothing to accuse him of, no unacceptable behaviour— apart from wanting more than I’m prepared to give. That old cliché, “it’s not you, it’s me”, really is appropriate here. I’m going to try not to actually say those words though. He deserves more than that.

And so I take a deep breath and open the door. He stands there expectantly with two bottles of wine, one red and one white, in his hands.

“I wasn’t sure what we would be eating, so I got both just in case,” he volunteers as he walks in and leans close to me for a kiss.

I give him my cheek and make a fuss of taking the bottles from him to deflect my lack of affection.

He follows me into the lounge. I’m sure he notices that I make no offer to pour the wine. I set the wine on the coffee table and perch on the end of the settee.

Frank takes my hands. “Claire, darling, are you ok? Has it been a rough day?”

I shake my head. “It’s not been the best. Frank… I…”

I can’t even look at him now. I take a deep breath and plunge in. “Frank, I… the thing is… I don’t know how… I think we should stop seeing each other.” The words tumble out of my mouth like a deluge.

I finally look up as Frank releases my hands and walks over to the window. He stands still, his back to me, as if just taking in the view. Then he turns to face me, staring intently at me, scrutinising my face as if looking for a glimmer of hope. The silence is unbearable.

“Frank, it’s not you—“ I try to fill the void, by resorting to stale old clichés after all.

“Spare me that platitude.” He snaps at me. “We’re not fifteen. This was… is… serious to me, Claire.”

Frank now moves to sit next to me. His hand rests on my thigh, his fingers lightly drawing circles on my jeans. I watch for a moment. Am I supposed to move it? Should I remind him he no longer can touch me like this?

His voice softens. “I lo—“

“No, please, Frank. Don’t say it. Please don’t. You are such a nice man. You don’t deserve this.” Gently, I lift his hand and place it on his leg.

“Then don’t do it. Tell me, Claire, what do I have to do? What changes do I have to make for us to move forward? I’ll do it, tell me. We can make this work, I know.”

What do I say now? Anything I say will only hurt him more. All I can do is apologise and try to explain.

“I am sorry, really. It’s just, well, you want more than I can give. You think about a future—“

“And what’s wrong with that? That’s what most people want, Claire. Planning for a future together— a home, a family… our family.” Frank’s getting angry now, raising his voice.

“Please, I’m trying to explain. You want a future life together and I can’t give you that. I’m sorry that I’m hurting you.”

“Is there someone else? Is that what this is all about?”

I’ve been trying to remain composed, to give Frank the explanation he deserves. But this question annoys me beyond belief, as if I have to be one half of a couple.

“I can’t believe you asked that. No, it’s not about another man. I can’t be what you want me to be and that’s it.”

He stands up now, right in front of me. His hands are down by his sides, so tightly clenched into fists that his knuckles are white against the slight tan of his skin. For a fleeting nanosecond, I wonder if he is going to hit me. But, of course not, he’s just trying to gain control of himself.

“That’s it, then.” The words are spat out with venom.

“You know I’m sorry.”

He shrugs dismissively. “Of course. Well, goodbye.”

He makes for the door.

“What about the wine?” I indicate the two bottles, still on the table. It’s a pointless trivial comment, I know, but for some reason I don’t want him to think I expect to keep them.

Frank doesn’t even look over his shoulder. “Consider them a parting gift.”

And with that, he's gone.

I remain sitting motionless, processing what I’ve just done. It’s not easy hearing those words, but neither is it easy to have to say them. So many emotions are coursing through my body — sorrow, guilt, regret, self-reproach, worry. And in the midst of this maelstrom, there is one thing I can clearly recognise — a glimmering spark of relief.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fan fic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #bit more Geillis #Chapter 3

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